Chapter Thirty-Two
Misha had pulled her long blond hair up on top of her head. The summer breeze blew a strand across her face as she stared in horror at the future fork that George held out to her. "I can't," she said, shaking her head and backing away from the pitchfork.
George took a deep breath, and tried to modulate his voice. Everything in him wanted to shout at the girl. Instead he spoke with exaggerated calm. "Yes, you can. It is not hard. You scoop up the meadow muffins, and you put them in the wheelbarrow. When the wheel barrow is full, you push it to the compost pile inside the chicken coop."
"No, I'm not doing it."
George grunted, "You know the rules," he grumbled. "No work, no food."
"Aw, come on Princess," Jim gave his daughter a wide, encouraging smile. "Its n
