“Say, Poppy,” I breathed, clinging to his arm, my eyes far away, “what is heaven like?”
“Be yourself, kid,” he shoved at me. “You aren’t Little Eva.”
“I wish now that I had taken lessons on a harp,” I tremoloed, “instead of a shoehorn. If only we could look ahead and know what the Fates have in store for us. Eh, kid?”
“Jerry,” came warmly, as the leader slipped an arm around me, “you’re a regular little sunbeam. For no matter how hard we get bumped, your stock of silly gab never dries up. I don’t know how I ever could get along without you. Certainly, it wouldn’t be the same old world.”
Well, that was pretty nice of him, I thought. I appreciated the hug, too!
“If you want to,” I puckered up, looking at him with my soul in my eyes, “you can kiss your little sunbeam ... once.”
“Go on!” he shoved.
I was about to unhinge some more of my crazy gab, when all of a sudden the leader gave a whoop and scooted down the road.
“Here’s a signboard, Jerry. ‘New Zion ten miles,’” he read.
“Ten miles!” I groaned.