Michael Malone - Weebly

head filled with thrillers, and that they'd find nothing out
there but an abandoned hunter's shack.
The sun balanced on top of Wild Oat Ridge, then
slid behind it in a trail of orange and red streamers. Miss
Dingley glanced up at the scurrying colors. She wheeled
herself over to Mrs. O'Neal, who had now finished all
the socks and was letting out the cuffs on a pair of boy's
trousers. "Getting hungry, Orchid? Famished myself.
Let's open the hamper."
Mrs. O'Neal rubbed a numb ankle. She did not in
the slightest believe there was anything to be found
beyond the marshes except Bredforet Pond and was
very worried that the two teenagers might accidentally
drown in that. She was in most matters intimidated by
her employer, but about children, and how best to look
after their welfare, Mrs. O'Neal, mother of six,
considered herself a far better judge than Miss Dingley,
mother of none. "Well, maybe something's out there,
and maybe something's not. Children are great talkers. I
don't mean lying. But adding on."
"Oh, it's there," said the invalid firmly. "I knew this
girl's grandmother."