“That’s a word to cure deafness. Here.”
The woman pulled a gigantic cookie from her apron pocket and held it toward the girl, who had now come alongside. The cake was in the shape of a doll, with flaring skirt, and was promptly nibbled.
“Well, I declare! Eat your playmates, do you?”
“Yes, indeed, when you make them!”
“Who’s that loping along behind?”
“Ephraim, of course. Oh! yes. A Mr. Hale, from New York.”
“What’s he at here?”
“Just staying. Lost his way and making a visit.”
“H-m-m! Don’t look wholesome. Needs picra.”
“I doubt it. He has a great row of bottles in his room and takes medicine every time he eats, or doesn’t. That is, since he’s been at Sobrante, which isn’t long.”