He might have laughed at her for buying a tractor that did not run.
He might have warned her not to get too excited before examining the evidence.
Or perhaps he would have smiled in that quiet way he did whenever she noticed something adults overlooked.
Her father approached.
“Well, there she is.”
May stared at the tractor.
“She's beautiful.”
He laughed.
“That's one word for it.”
May gave him an offended look.
He held up his hands.
“All right. She's beautiful.”
They stood together for several minutes.
Then May's father looked toward the notebook.
“Let's start with what we know.”
May nodded.
She opened the book to the original drawing.
They compared the steering housing, transmission bracket, and identification plate with the sketches.
The similarities were unmistakable.
But May's father remained careful.
“Someone could have modified an ordinary tractor to resemble a test machine.”
May frowned.
“Why would they?”
“People modify equipment for all kinds of reasons. Sometimes to solve a problem. Sometimes to replace a part they can't find.”
She nodded slowly.
“So how do we prove it?”
He smiled.
“We follow the evidence.”
Over the next three days, they began a careful inspection.
May's father did not allow anyone to dismantle the machine.
Instead, he photographed its exterior, recorded measurements, and noted which components appeared unusual.
May created a separate inventory in her notebook.
She recorded the condition of the tires, the visible fasteners, the position of the special control lever, and the stamped markings on several metal parts.
Her father taught her how to distinguish surface rust from damage that might affect structural integrity.
They also identified areas that should not be disturbed until someone qualified had inspected them.
May found the work fascinating.
She had expected the tractor to reveal its secrets quickly.
Instead, every detail led to another question.
One afternoon, while examining the seat assembly from the side, she noticed a narrow metal compartment built beneath the rear platform.
It looked like a small toolbox.
The lid was covered in rust.
An old latch held it closed.
She pointed toward it.
“Dad, what's that?”
He examined the compartment.
“Storage box, maybe.”