“You’re grinning. Promise honor bright.”
“Honor bright.”
“Hope to die?”
“Oh, yep, trot along.”
Chicken Little, relenting, was back in three minutes with the entire cache of cookies, which she religiously divided and the children munched contentedly while Chicken Little speculated as to what the wonderful excursion could be. With feminine persistence she wormed a few more facts from Ernest.
“Carol and Sherm going?”
The cookies had limbered up Ernest’s tongue.
“Yep,” he answered, but suddenly remembered himself when his small sister began to giggle.
“Bet we’re going hazel-nutting. Ernest, tell me.”
“Sha’n’t tell you another thing and you might as well let up.”