“Greer thinks she’d like to shear the sheep and learn how to spin wool and knit, but I won’t hold my breath on that one. And the goats . . . well, we just think they’re fun to watch. I suppose someday we could add a female and milk her, but I’m not much of a fan of goat’s milk. I’m partial to chèvre, though, so who knows! Maybe I’ll become a cheese maker!”

When Mr. Townsend finishes showing me how to do the rest of the chores, he asks me if I still want the job and says they’ll pay me minimum wage. This is a little surprising, given that it seems they could afford much more. But when I think of Ferdinand’s sweet face and realize how much nicer it will be to see than the Grayson twins, I say yes.

“Terrific!” Mr. Townsend says, patting me on the back. “We’ll need you Monday through Friday. Greer and I will come back here on weekends since the lake is too crowded with tourists then, anyway.”

We shake hands, and I officially have a summer job.

When I get home, my mom is waiting for me and I tell her the news. She makes an angry face when I say how much they’ll pay me. “That’s how the rich stay rich,” she says, disgusted.

“They seem like nice people,” I tell her.

She scoffs when I describe walking Ferdinand. “Whoever heard of such a thing?” she asks. “Honestly.”

“They saved him from being veal,” I tell her. I don’t think I’ve ever had veal before, but now I know I never will. How could anyone eat a baby animal?

“Mr. Townsend said we could have their extra eggs,” I add, hoping this will make her feel better. “They only use one dozen per week, so if I collect more than that, I can bring them home.”

“How generous,” my mom says sarcastically.

I get the feeling there is nothing I can say about our new neighbors that will make my mom happy. “I thought you wanted me to take this job,” I say.

She sighs and touches the top of my head, something she’s done since I was little. “I do, honey. I’m sorry. I’ve just got a lot on my mind, and it makes me grumpy. This will be a great job for you.” But she says it in a distanced way, as if her mind is already on something else — some worry she doesn’t talk about but that shows on her face and in the tense way she seems to hold herself all the time now.

“Mom,” I ask as she slips her hand from my head, “have you heard from the school yet?”