“Sheep eat grass.” Mr. Willow slumped on a stool inside the small shed that his wife had turned into an art studio. “We should get some sheep.”

The children watched through the open doorway. Derek still clutched his invitation in his hand.

“But sheep cost money, too,” said Mrs. Willow. She set her paintbrush down in a swirl of red. “And sheep wander off. Maybe the mower can be fixed again.”

Mr. Willow put his head in his hands. “I remember thinking what a good place this was,” he said. “Woods! A river! Lots of room for the kids to play! But did I look at the acres and acres of grass? Did I, even once, stop to think that it would just keep on growing?”

“Now, dear,” said Mrs. Willow, patting her husband’s arm.

“Even while we sleep, it grows!”

Tate backed away from the worried voices. She liked peace and calm above all things. She did not like it when people were upset.

A ring of slender trees circled the hill, like a tall, spiky crown. They were peaceful, those trees. They were not unhappy about money or broken mowers or round-trip tickets. Tate wanted her family to be as peaceful as the trees. She tried very hard to think of something she could do to make her family happy again.

“If only it had happened next month,” her father’s voice went on from a distance. “That wouldn’t have been so bad. But this month, we’re short of money. It cost a lot to move. And the university doesn’t pay as well as my old job.”

“Never mind the money.” Mother’s voice came faintly on the breeze. “This is a good chance for you to do important work, and it’s just for a year. I could get a part-time job in town.”

“But we agreed this would be your chance to paint!” Father’s shoulders slumped. “I think we’ll have to get out the credit cards after all.”

Mother shook her head. “No, we promised each other we would only use them for emergencies. Why don’t I drop off some paintings in town? The coffee shop said they would put them up and see if they sold.”

The children drifted back to stand beside Tate. Behind them, the voices of their parents went on in a low murmur.

Abner put both hands on his brother’s shoulders and gave him a little shake. “You can’t ask them for train ticket money now.”

“I know it,” said Derek miserably.

Celia stuck her thumb in her mouth. With the other hand, she held out Mr. Bunny to her brother.

This last kindness was too much for Derek. There was a hot feeling behind his eyes, and his face felt stiff. He yanked off his baseball cap, turned away, and pretended to fix the strap.

Tate thought she had better take charge before people started crying. “Blow your nose, Derek,” she said. “And, Celia, take your thumb out of your mouth. You’re not a baby anymore.”

“I just forgot,” said Celia with dignity. She dried her thumb on her shirt and looked at it fondly. It would still be there at bedtime if she needed it.

“I have an idea.” Tate said this very firmly, to cover up the fact that she did not actually have a real idea yet. But she was hopeful that one would come to her soon.

“What?” everyone asked.

Tate stared at the lawn mower, still smoking slightly, and the wedge of cut grass behind it. Her gaze traveled over the garage, past the trees, to the toolshed. And then, all at once, she did have an idea.

“Come on!” Tate took off across the hilltop.

“Where are you going?” Abner strode after her. Derek wiped his nose, jammed his cap back on, and ran to catch up. Celia followed more slowly. She was picking up handfuls of the cut grass for Mr. Bunny to eat.

Tate stopped on the cement slab in front of the toolshed door. She crossed her fingers for luck. Then she lifted the latch and pulled at the handle. Rusted hinges creaked as the big door swung open.

Inside, the shed was dark and dusty and full of junk—tools, yard equipment, tangled ropes. Derek and Abner crowded in after Tate and stood for a moment, letting their eyes adjust to the dim light.

“Cool!” said Derek. He picked up a long-handled blade that curved like a slice of lemon. “We could cut the grass with this!”

“Watch it!” Abner ducked. “Don’t swing it around, Derek. You’re going to take someone’s head off.”

“AHA!” Tate cried. She grasped a wooden handle in the corner and tugged. There was a clatter as two rakes and a pail fell to the floor. “I knew there had to be an old mower in here!”

The old-fashioned mower was like an overgrown and very dirty push toy. The long handle was connected to a reel of red blades and two dusty rubber wheels.

Abner squinted at it doubtfully. “That’s a really old mower.”

“Where’s the gas tank?” asked Derek.

“It doesn’t need gas,” said Tate, standing up straight. Her cheeks were flushed, and her hair was coming out of its ponytail. “That’s the best thing about it! There’s nothing to break. All you do is hold the handle and push!”

“Really?” Derek gave the mower a little shove.

“I bet you’d have to push it hard,” said Abner. He dragged the mower, clanking and thumping, out of the shed and onto the cement slab. “Watch out, Celia.”

Celia had found a patch of clover for Mr. Bunny at the edge of the slab. She wasn’t interested in the dirty mower.

It looked even worse in the sunlight. The wooden handle was worn and cracked. The long shaft was covered with cobwebs. And the blades were dull and rusty.

“Maybe it mows better than it looks,” Tate said without much hope.

Abner kicked at one of the rubber wheels. “Dad will never want to mow the whole hill with this old thing. It would take forever.”

Derek bent down to brush the cobwebs away. “I’d mow with it,” he said. “If Dad would let me, I’d mow the whole hill. Then he wouldn’t have to buy a new mower this month. And he’d have enough money for my train ticket.”

Abner and Tate exchanged a glance.

“You’d never be able to do it,” said Abner.

“It would take you forever,” added Tate.

Derek creased the party invitation between his hands. “I don’t care how long it takes,” he said, and he lifted his chin. But this was a mistake, because now he could see the shaggy lawn. And there was so much of it.

In his heart, Derek despaired. He would never get it all done. Before he got to the bottom of the hill, the top would have grown long again.

“Mr. Bunny will help,” said Celia. She ripped up handfuls of grass and clover and threw them to one side, just like a mower. “Rabbits love to chew grass.”

“Oh, right,” said Derek bitterly. “Mr. Bunny’s going to be a big help.”

Scrrrreeeaaak … scrrrreeeaaak …

It was a dry, metallic sound, like two butter knives scraping together. Derek whipped around. There was nothing behind him but the shed and the rusty old mower. Only the mower was not quite as close to the shed as before.

Derek stared. Had the mower moved?

Tate frowned and set the machine back against the side of the shed. “Don’t play with the lawn mower, Celia. You might hurt yourself.”

“I didn’t touch it!” said Celia.

Tate sighed. “Okay, then, don’t let Mr. Bunny play with the mower.”

Celia stuck out her lower lip. “Mr. Bunny didn’t do anything. He’s just eating grass, and I’m just throwing grass, like this—”

Scrrrreeeaaak … scrrrreeeaaak …

The children’s attention snapped to the lawn mower. Four pairs of eyes grew wide as the curving blades scraped again. The wheels moved away from the shed a second time.

There was a sudden and alert silence.

“Do it again, Celia,” said Abner, his voice strained.

Celia backed up. Then, feeling safer, she threw another handful of grass. Most of it missed the mower completely. But a little—a very little—fell on the rusty mower blades.

And the blades moved.

The children hardly dared to look at one another. Every heart leaped with a fearful joy. Was it true? Had magic, the deep magic that came from under the hill, happened to them again? Or—and this was the fearful part—were they somehow mistaken?

The mower had hardly moved, but the bits of grass wafted up from the blades as if caught in a tiny, curling breeze. They swirled about the children and fell back down to settle on the cement slab.

Celia took a breath and started to speak, but Tate clapped a hand over her mouth.

“Don’t say it,” Tate whispered fiercely. “Don’t say the word until we’re sure. We’ve got to test it.”

Abner nodded. He bent down and ripped up two handfuls of grass. As if in a trance, Derek did the same.

“On three,” said Abner. “One—two—three!”

The boys opened their fists above the mower, and four clumps of fresh grass fell into the dull and rusty blades. The mower gave a rasping sound, like a metallic chuckle, and leaped forward.