“It WAS mine,” said Penrod. “Up to about serreval days ago, it was. They quit givin' it to me. I had to take two bottles and a half of it.”
“What did you haf to take it for?”
“I got nervous, or sumpthing,” said Penrod.
“You all well again now?”
“I guess so. Uncle Passloe and cousin Ronald came to visit, and I expect she got too busy to think about it, or sumpthing. Anyway, she quit makin' me take it, and said I was lots better. She's forgot all about it by this time.”
Sam was looking at the bottle with great interest.
“What's all that stuff in there, Penrod?” he asked. “What's all that stuff in there looks like grass?”
“It IS grass,” said Penrod.
“How'd it get there?”
“I stuck it in there,” the candid boy replied. “First they had some horrable ole stuff in there like to killed me. But after they got three doses down me, I took the bottle out in the yard and cleaned her all out and pulled a lot o' good ole grass and stuffed her pretty full and poured in a lot o' good ole hydrant water on top of it. Then, when they got the next bottle, I did the same way, and—”