“I’ll be lookin’ fur you after supper,” the old man told us as we started away with our supply of beauty soap. “But come before dark,” he instructed sharply.
Scoop squinted back at the old mill, a gaunt, ungainly structure with a flat roof. Then he turned to Tom.
“Have you got a kite?” he inquired.
Our new chum shook his head.
“I’ll ask Peg to make one,” Scoop decided, and he started back toward the brick house, where [[119]]the fourth member of our gang was standing guard over the buried talking frog.
Tom and I went ahead, leaving Scoop to his own devices. Pretty soon we came to Miss Prindle’s house on Church Street. At sight of her dressmaking sign I grinned.
“It must have been an awful blow to her,” I told my companion, “not to have been able to change her homely face.”
I had no sooner said this than the front door opened and the dressmaker herself appeared on the porch. She looked up and down the street, nodding to us and smiling.
Gosh! I was struck dumb, sort of. It was her face! I blinked my eyes. I must be dreaming, I told myself.
“Pinch me,” I said to Tom.