How quick-witted she was! One summer Father had a certain pear tree that yielded only a few choice pears which he was jealously watching. We children had been admonished not to touch them. One day as Father walked around the yard, he hesitated before the ripening pears, then passed on. We thought him waiting unnecessarily long: one was surely dead ripe. That afternoon, while he was taking his Sunday nap, Kate picked that pear. She had just bitten into it as Father appeared. Putting both hands behind her, she edged backward in the yard till she stood under the astrachan tree, frightened, but “gamey.”
“Katherine, come here,” Father called sternly.
She came slowly, hands behind her and mouth full of the big bite she was vainly trying to swallow.
“What have you in your mouth?”
A gulp, and she said, “Nothing,” opening wide her little mouth.
“Let me see your hand.”
Out from behind her came the right hand.
“Let me see your other hand.”
Back went her right hand, out came her left, the pear still invisible.
“Let me see both hands,” said Father relentlessly.