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“Yes,” said Tellef, tearing up bits of heather and tossing them away. “It is cataracts Grandmother has in her eyes.” "Oh, yes!" replied Little Red Riding-Hood, "on the further side of the mill that you see down there; hers is the first house in the village." Probably this last remark was meant only to impress him, Bob thought. If the hut would hold him, Harper wouldn’t spend the night watching. It would be too uncomfortable. Moreover, it would be all the same if Harper was able to make his prisoner believe he would be outside waiting for an attempt at escape. Once more he heard a voice. This time it was directed at him. It was Harper..
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Ugh! he would have to try to talk. “It was queer there weren’t more, but none of the apples would fall in the basket, and they would whack right down on the ground, and so they got bruised—and then we ate them, you see, Mother.” He walked back to the hotel, too overcome by the beauty of the thing he had seen to attempt talking of it. Evidently Steve Whitney knew how the boy felt, for he did not break the silence. But once inside the house Bob realized that it had been a long time since luncheon. “Why in the world should Nils lend you his blouse?”.
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