“Sherm, if I start to cry, just wink, will you–that funny way you do sometimes. Ernest bet I 272would–and I won’t, but I know I’m going to want to dreadfully.”
Chicken Little was as good as her word. She didn’t–that is, as long as Ernest could see her. She kissed him good-bye and gave him a playful box on the ear. She threw kisses, smiling as the group at the car window slid by, then the lump in her throat grew startlingly bigger.
“Race you to the horses, Chicken Little,” said Sherm. “If it’s all right with you, Mrs. Morton, we’ll go straight home.”
Chicken Little raced with Sherm and with her tears. She beat Sherm but the tears won out. She could hardly see to untie Calico’s rein. Sherm took the strap out of her hand, fastened it, and swung her up.
“Shut your eyes and open your mouth,” he commanded, as soon as she was securely seated.
Jane obeyed meekly and Sherm popped a big chocolate drop in.
“Oh!” she exclaimed, smiling through the trickling tears, “was that what you stopped down town for? My, what a baby you must think me!”
Sherm reached over and patted her hand. “I think you are several pumpkins and some squash, Chicken Little. Have another?”