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If there was one wild onion, there could be more.

He intertwined his fingers and tried to rub out the pain. Then he bent down and dug up another flower, this time pulling up the entire plant, including the root.

It was a beautiful spring morning. The sky was painted pale blue and pink -- the same color as the lake and the peach trees along its shore.

"Onions! Fresh, hot, sweet onions," Sam called as Mary Lou pulled the cart down Main Street. "Eight cents a dozen."

When Stanley found the onion the night before, he didn't question how it had come to be there. He ate it gratefully. But now as he sat gazing at Big Thumb and the meadow full of flowers, he couldn't help but wonder about it.

"Sam!" she shouted.

Mrs. Gladys Tennyson was wearing just her nightgown and robe as she came running down the street after Sam. Mrs. Tennyson was normally a very proper woman who never went out in public without dressing up in fine clothes and a hat. So it was quite surprising to the people of Green Lake to see her running past them.

"The Good Lord, yes," agreed Mrs. Tennyson, "but not Dr. Hawthorn. That quack wanted to put leeches on her stomach! Leeches! My word! He said they would suck out the bad blood. Now you tell me. How would a leech know good blood from bad blood?"

"I wouldn't know," said Sam.

"Does your husband know you're parading about in your bed clothes?" Hattie asked.

Other townspeople made their way to the cart. "Good morning, Gladys," said Hattie Parker. "Don't you look lovely this morning."

Gladys Tennyson was all smiles. "I think she's going to be all right. The fever broke about an hour ago. Thanks to you."

"Whoa, Mary Lou," said Sam, stopping his mule and cart. "G'morning, Mrs. Tennyson," he said. "How's little Becca doing?"

Several people snickered.

"Good morning, Hattie," Mrs. Tennyson replied.

"My husband knows exactly where I am and how I am dressed, thank you," said Mrs. Tennyson. "We have both been up all night and half the morning with Rebecca. She almost died from stomach sickness. It seems she ate some bad meat."

"It was your onion tonic," said Mrs. Tennyson. "That's what saved her."

There were more snickers.

"I'm sure the good Lord and Doc Hawthorn deserve most of the credit."

Hattie's face flushed. Her husband, Jim Parker, was the butcher.

"All right then," said Mrs. Tennyson, "give me my change in onions."

"Tell Becca that when she feels up to it to come by the store for a piece of candy," said Mr. Pike. "Thank you, I'll do that."

"It made my husband and me sick as well," said Mrs. Tennyson, "but it nearly killed Becca, what with her being so young. Sam saved her life."

"It wasn't me," said Sam. "It was the onions."

Sam gave Mrs. Tennyson an additional three onions, and she fed them one at a time to Mary Lou. She laughed as the old donkey ate them out of her hand.

"I keep telling Jim he needs to wash his knives," said Mr. Pike, who owned the general store.

Before returning home, Mrs. Tennyson bought a dozen onions from Sam. She gave him a dime and told him to keep the change.

"I'm glad Becca's all right," Hattie said contritely.

"I don't take charity," Sam told her. "But if you want to buy a few extra onions for Mary Lou, I'm sure she'd appreciate it."

Hattie Parker excused herself, then turned and quickly walked away.

Stanley and Zero slept off and on for the next two days, ate onions, all they wanted, and splashed dirty water into their mouths. In the late afternoon Big Thumb gave them shade. Stanley tried to make the hole deeper, but he really needed the shovel. His efforts just seemed to stir up the mud and make the water dirtier.

Zero was sleeping. He was still very sick and weak, but the sleep and the onions seemed to be doing him some good. Stanley was no longer afraid that he would die soon. Still, he didn't want to go for the shovel while Zero was asleep. He didn't want him to wake up and think he'd been deserted.

He waited for Zero to open his eyes.

It was fairly easy to follow the trail he had made two days earlier. There were a few places where he wasn't sure he was going the right way, but it just took a little bit of searching before he found the trail again.

"I'll wait here," Zero said feebly, as if he had any other choice.

"I think I'll go look for the shovel," Stanley said.

Stanley headed down the mountain. The sleep and the onions had done him a lot of good as well. He felt strong.

Still, he headed downward, just in case. He came to a bare spot between two large patches of weeds and sat down to rest. Now he had definitely gone too far, he decided. He was tired out from walking down the hill. It would have been impossible to have carried Zero up the hill from here, especially after walking all day with no food or water. The shovel must be buried in some weeds.

He went quite a ways down the mountain but still didn't find the shovel. He looked back up toward the top of the mountain. He must have walked right past it, he thought. There was no way he could have carried Zero all the way up from here.

Before starting back up, he took one last look around in all directions. He saw a large indentation in the weeds a little farther down the mountain. It didn't seem likely that the shovel could be there, but he'd already come this far.

On his way back up the mountain, Stanley had to sit down and rest several times. It was a long, hard climb.

There, lying in some tall weeds, he found the shovel and the sack of jars. He was amazed. He wondered if the shovel and sack might have rolled down the hill. But none of the jars were broken, except the one which had broken earlier. And if they had rolled down the hill, it is doubtful that he would have found the sack and shovel side by side.