“Gee, it—it’s swell!”
“And—”
“Look! Look!”
“Persimmons!” A golden mound of them lay at the base of a tree, piled up against the hole, bursting, brown. “Persimmons! Here; taste one, little missy. They’re fine.”
“Eat ’em?”
“Sure!”
She bit into one gently; then with appetite.
“M-m-m! Good!”
“Want another?”
“M-m-m—my mouth! Ouch! My m—mouth!”