“Dear, dear,” said the chemist. “And are you the little girl who ate the golden star?”
Freda would have liked to say “No,” but she didn’t dare.
“Yes,” she said, in a very small voice.
“Dear, dear,” said the chemist again. “That wasn’t very good of you, was it?”
“No,” said Freda, in a still smaller voice.
“And when did you eat it?” asked the old chemist.
“Yesterday,” said Freda.
“And do you still feel quite well?” asked the old chemist.
“Yes,” said Freda. “But I only pretended to drink the slimy stuff they gave me last night, and I’m afraid the poison may still be waiting inside me.”
“It seems to me,” said the chemist, “that what you really need is some medicine to make you good. Eh?”