The Trapdoor

They made it to the meadow when Samantha heard Wendell shout followed by the sound of his logs tumbling to the ground. She assumed he'd stumbled and spilled his load, but when she climbed up to the meadow, she saw a pair of older boys looming over him. One was John, the dark-haired boy from church. "You're not supposed to carry the firewood. You're just supposed to stack it," a blond boy about Samantha's age said.

John poked Wendell in the chest. "You're too weak to carry the firewood. That's why the reverend gave the job to us."

"I can too carry it. I carried it all the way up here," Wendell said. He tried to gather up some of the firewood, but the blond boy kicked it away from him.

"What's going on here?" Samantha asked.

"It's none of your business," John said.

"He was helping me take the wood to Miss Brigham so it is my business," Samantha said.

"He's doing our job. The reverend assigned us to haul the firewood, not this weakling," the blond boy said.

"Then where were you two?"

"We had to carry some over to the kitchen. You should have waited until we got back."

"I can't keep Miss Brigham waiting all day. I don't see what difference it makes who carries the stupid firewood as long as it gets there."

"It's our job. Not his."

"Wendell didn't mean any harm. Leave him alone."