Dot shook hands with him, of course; but it made her shiver a little, the hand felt so soft and flabby; and when she withdrew her own hand she noticed upon it a fine white powder like flour. This she brushed off, but the little man laughed and said. "It's only powdered sugar, my dear. I'm obliged to keep myself covered with it, you know, so I won't stick to things."
"But—but I don't understand," stammered the girl. "Aren't you made like other people?"
"Certainly; I am made like everyone I have ever seen until I met you and this little boy. It strikes me you are the ones who are queerly made. You don't seem to be candy at all."
"Oh no!" said Dot, in a matter-of-fact way. "We're just flesh and blood and bones."
"And clothes," added Tot, who was looking with greedy eyes at the strange little man.
"Well, well!" said the man, thoughtfully tapping the ground with his cane; "what strange creatures you must be. In this Valley everyone is made of candy."
"And everything else is candy," exclaimed the little woman, who was peering over the man's shoulder and had not spoken before.
"Oh yes; everything we know of is candy except the river," continued the man.
"Are you candy?" asked Tot, with wide open eyes.
"To be sure. My bones are all made of stick candy and my flesh is marshmallow. That is why I must keep myself covered with powdered sugar; otherwise I would melt or stick to everything I touched. My wife is made in the same way, and we are very proud to know we are very pure and wholesome."