Here is a Minute story that is not in the collection:

The 4th of July

Minute chased Banner around his corral behind the house, but after a while of his skittery nonsense, she gave up, walked away and sat in the corner of the corral on a stump with her back to her horse. She slapped the bridle reins in the hot, dry, summer dirt, making poofs of dust. She turned to shout at him that he was no fun, but he stood, head hanging, right behind her.

“Oh … you don’t like it if I don’t play? Well, it’s no fun chasing you, either.” Minute started for the barn to hang up the bridle.

She heard the dull thud of Banner’s hooves as he followed behind her like a contrite puppy. She went through the Dutch door of the barn and turned to look out at the bright day, and her horse watched her with soulful expression. She brought the bridle back out, the sun glinted on the bit. Banner shied.

“Come on, what a sissy!” She held the bridle low and patted his muzzle with her other hand. “Come on, now.” She brought the bridle up and slipped the bit between his teeth, then she led him to the fence, climbed up to the second rail of the fence and hopped on, bareback.

“Finally!” she sighed. She reined Banner around and headed for the open land out back.

“Minute!” Mother called from the back door. “Come on, we’ve got work to do. You’ve had long enough to play with that horse.”

“Rats,” Minute said to herself. “I just got on,” she called back to her mother.

“You always say that. Come on, now!” Mother went back inside.

“Darn it!” Minute rode one turn around the corral, quickly scrambled down, took the bridle off Banner and hung it up. “See now, if you hadn’t horsed around, we could have been out back having fun and she wouldn’t have been able to call me,” Minute scolded Banner. “It’s all your fault.” She climbed over the fence and ran to the house.

Inside, it was like a cave, cool and dark. At first she could see nothing coming in from the bright sunlight. But the kitchen smelled wonderful.

What are you gaping at?” Mother’s voice came to her from near the stove.

“Nothing. I can’t see, it’s too dark.”

“Stop clowning around and let’s get some work done. Wash up, then wash those strawberries and take the stems off.”

“Okay.”

Mother was boiling eggs and potatoes for potato salad and Minute could smell the beans baking in the Dutch oven.

“Should have made the potato salad yesterday,” Mother said. “It’s better the second day.”

“Your potato salad always tastes great.”

“What are you after?”

“Nothing. Just hungry.” Minute put a strawberry in her mouth to prove her point.

“Don’t you eat those strawberries up,” Mother said.

“It was a little one, nobody wanted it anyway. I hope we have a pretty sunset.”

“Why?” Mother asked, pouring cold water on the potatoes and eggs, steam rising up around her pretty face.

“Because it’s the Fourth of July.”

“I’ve got to get the custard made for the ice-cream,” Mother said. “I’m never going to get everything together in time to eat at a decent hour.”

“At least it’s Daddy’s day off. I like it when we celebrate the Fourth on the real day.”

“Um,” Mother said into her blue plaid cookbook.

“Don’t you think it’s more fun?” Minute asked.

“What’s that?”

“When Daddy’s day off is the same as the real Fourth of July. Then, we can have our own fireworks and watch everyone else’s at the same time. It’s more exciting.”

“Oh,” Mother said. “That’s true. But he gets double time when he works a holiday.”

“What does that mean?”

“That he makes twice as much money.”

“For just one day?”

“Yes.”

“Oh,” Minute almost said, “Phooey!” because now the railroad had taken the fun out of her holiday. But she looked at Mother concentrating on putting together the ingredients for the ice-cream custard, so she just kept taking the stems of the strawberries off, feeling quiet.

“I wonder where your father is?” Mother asked

“He’s in the garden,” Minute answered. “I’m hungry.”

“You said that already.”

“I know. I’m still hungry. Can’t I have a pickle?”

“Pickles and strawberries, you’ll ruin your appetite.”

“No I won’t. I’m real hungry.”

“You’ll ruin my appetite. Why a pickle?”

“Because they’re little and you wouldn’t even notice it was gone.”

“Oh, you want one of those sweet pickles.”

“Yes. Gherkin, gherkin. It sounds more like what an animal would say then what a pickle would do.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I don’t know, I’m just so hungry.”

“Well here, eat some pickles and it would serve you right if you got sick.”

“Why?”

“Because you want to eat a pickle.”

“Oh. I’m through with these strawberry stems, now what?”

“Since you have your face in the pickles, make up a relish dish. Slice some carrots and put cream cheese in the celery.”

Soon the potato salad and relish dish and ice-cream custard were in the refrigerator with the strawberries. Then Mother was busy washing the sweet corn on the cob that Daddy had brought in from the garden that morning.

The sun pulled toward the western horizon.

“Shouldn’t I call Daddy to start up the grill?”

“Yes, I was just going to tell you.”

Minute ran outside, found her father in the grain bin with her baby brother.

“Mother says start up the grill, it’s time to eat! And I’m hungry.”

“So am I.” He picked up the baby and they walked back to the house. While Daddy got the grill going, Minute and Mother ran in and out, setting the picnic table with the brightly colored picnic dishes and bringing out the food. The back door slam-slammed after them. Walker, the baby, sat quietly in his little car, sucked on a carrot, head swiveling, watching all the interesting activity.

At long last they sat down to their Forth of July picnic.

“Finally!” Minute exclaimed. “Somehow, I’m even hungrier than I was before! Wait ’til you taste the strawberries, Daddy, I washed them myself.”

“Did you now?” He nodded as he made short work of a long row of corn. “The cooks in this house are more than a harem of men deserves.”

“You cook really great, too,” Minute said.

“Why, I was including myself!” Daddy laughed.

“Such modesty!” Mother said, shaking her head.

When they’d devoured everything edible in sight, Daddy brought out the ice-cream freezer. He poured the custard into the metal center, set the beater in place and screwed the lid down tight. Then he positioned the container in the wooden bucket and packed ice and salt all around it. At last he fitted the handle on and began churning.

“This is the awful part,” Minute said.

“What do you mean?” he asked, “you’re not doing the work.”

“I know! But I’ve waited all day for fresh ice-cream. What if it doesn’t turn out?”

“‘Oh ye of little faith,’” Mother said.

“Well, I just can’t wait, that’s all.”

“Go bring the strawberries then, keep yourself busy,” Mother said.

Minute ran inside and grabbed the huge bowl of strawberries. Coming out the back door, she gasped at the sight of the city. The sun, setting in the west, thrust it’s orange and golden rays against the myriad windows of the city spread out in a valley ten miles to the east, sparkling like a village from heaven.

“Oh, look!” she cried.

Her parents looked up in alarm to where she pointed, then smiles settled on their faces at the sight of the golden city on the prairie.

Daddy stopped churning the ice-cream. No one moved until the moment of fairy-tale beauty passed as the sunlight faded from the windows.

“I hope I didn’t ruin the ice-cream by stopping,” Daddy said, churning with new vigor. “Oh, good, there, I can feel it setting up.” He made a few more careful turns. “Here we go.” He took off the handle and unscrewed the lid. Inside, magic had turned the liquid custard into a gallon of white, frothy homemade ice-cream.

“Won-der-ful!” Minute exclaimed.

Daddy pulled the container from the wooden bucket and carefully removed the beater. Mother handed him a bowl and a rubber spatula and he scooped the ice-cream into the bowl from the beater, then proceeded to take the first taste by licking the beater.

“Hmmm,” he said.

Minute watched enviously.

“Well, how is it?” Mother asked.

“The best ever. Yes indeed-y, this is the best ice-cream on the face of earth. Maybe heaven has better, but I wouldn’t risk my money on it.”

Mother filled bowls to the brim with ice-cream topped with fat, juicy, slices of strawberries.

Then they all—even the baby—had seconds.

“Oh, I ate too much,” Minute moaned.

“I told you not to eat that pickle,” Mother said, laughing.

“Yuck! A pickle.”

“I guess you’re too full to play with sparklers,” Daddy said.

“No-no-no! I’ll be all right in a minute. What about you, Daddy?”

“I guess I’ll be all right about the same time you are.”

As dusk crept to darkness, fireworks began to appear above the city like fireflies. Mother and Daddy moved from the picnic table to lawn chairs, and Minute sat in the grass, watching the increasing fervor of fireworks in the sky.

“There’s the drive-in theatre,” Daddy said.

“And there’s the air base,” said Mother.

“There’s the display at the capitol building,” Minute said. “Now I’m ready for sparklers!”

“Okay!” Daddy dug into his sack of goodies; snakes, one Roman candle, and blue, pink, gold, and silver sparklers. Mother started with a pink one and Minute chose a gold one. Daddy lighted their sparklers with the kitchen matches. Walker squealed with glee from Mother’s lap, while she held the sparkler away from him and wrote, “Walker” in the pink light.

After everyone had sparklered every color, there was much production and standing back and oohs and ahhs while Daddy lit the Roman candle. Then Daddy lit more sparklers for everyone. Except Walker of course.

Minute wrote, “HAPPY 4TH OF JULY” in the sky with the last silver sparkler.

“All gone,” Mother said softly to the baby, settling back into her lawn chair.

They returned their attention to the firework displays in the city.

“A perfect Fourth,” Minute said.

“It was nice,” Mother said with a tone in her voice that said, “even though.”

Minute looked from Mother to Daddy. “Doesn’t the Fourth of July mean freedom?”

“That’s right!” Daddy answered.

“Does freedom mean that you’re happy?”

“Hopefully.”

“You can be free from a lot of things, can’t you, or not free?”

“That’s true,” he agreed.

“Can you be free of not getting paid double time?”