“Sure. That’s what makes it such good sport,” replied The Fungus easily. “Look; [here’s a place where there’s a picket off]. If we could get the next one off— There it is; bully! We can crawl through there easy as pie. It’s only a little way to the orchard. If you peek through the lilacs you can see the trees. Gee, look at those apples! There’s a million billion bushels of them! See the tree down toward the brook, the one with the red, red apples on it? That’s the best in the orchard. Say, there isn’t any moon tonight, is there?”
“Why, yes, but it doesn’t come up until pretty late.”
“That’s all right then. Wish those lilacs weren’t so thick right here,” he said. “But I guess we can squirm through. Hello, what was that?”
“What?” asked Cal.
[“Here’s a place where there’s a picket off!”]
“I thought I saw something in there, something white. And listen!” He peered into the shadow of hedge and trees. “Didn’t you think you heard something?”
But Cal shook his head.