"Well," said Tot, slowly, "he said the folks here were good to eat; an'—an'—he held his hand behind his back—right in front of my mouth; an'—so I took one of little bite off his fingers, an'—"
"Tot," said Dot, "I'm ashamed of you! The idea of eating one who has been so kind to us, and so soon after luncheon, too!"
"Pray, do not scold him," said the candy man. "He says I am good to eat, and that makes me so proud that I shall not mind the loss of my fingers. When I have time I can get some new ones patched on; so it does not matter much in the least."
Still, Dot was hurt and angry at the occurrence, and Tot walked behind them with hanging head.
Very soon they saw, sitting by the roadside, a child who was so exceedingly black in color that Dot exclaimed:
"Surely, that baby isn't made of chocolate!"
"No," said her friend, "that's a licorice child. We have a few of them in the Valley and they are much admired. But here is our stream of pink lemonade, and we will cross it by this little bridge."
The bridge was remarkably pretty, being made of pea-green and orange-colored candy, twisted together and ornamented with dainty frosted work such as bakers put upon wedding cakes.
Upon reaching the other side of the stream they found themselves near the mountains, which shut in the far side of the Valley. Dot looked up at these mountains and asked, curiously, "Who are all those people sitting on the rocks?"