"Do your parents know where you are, child?" Aunt Twylee asked, as she took the bowl from Marilou's hands. She began dicing the apples into a dough-lined casserole.
"No, they don't," Marilou replied. She sprayed the air with little particles of apple as she talked. "Everybody's gone to the hills to look for the boys."
"The boys?" Aunt Twylee stopped her work and looked at the little girl.
"Yes—Jimmy an' Eddie an' some of the others disappeared from the settlement this morning. The men're afraid they've run off to th' hills an' the renegades got 'em."
"Gracious," Aunt Twylee said; her brow knitted into a criss-cross of wrinkles.
"Oh, I know those dopes. They're prob'ly down at th' canals—fishin' or somep'n."
"Just the same, your mother will be frantic, dear. You should have told her where you were going."
"I don't care," Marilou said with unadulterated honesty. "She'll be all right when I get home."
Aunt Twylee shook her head and clucked her tongue.
"Can I have another glass? Please?"