"You may wait for it to come out of the oven. How old are you?"
"Seven," said Flop, and then he asked the lady.
"What is your name?"
"Margaret," she answered. "Margaret More."
"More what?" asked Flop.
"More pies, I guess," laughed the pie lady as she whistled again,
this time just like a canary trilling when it swings at the top of
its cage in the sunshine. Curly laughed, too, and then the lady went
to the oven to take out the pie.
And, would you ever believe it if I didn't tell you? No, I'm sure
you wouldn't. But, anyhow, all of a sudden, out from the bushes came
a bad, fuzzy old wolf, and he stood in front of the bungalow,
crying:
"I smell apple pies! I smell apple pies! Also a little piggie boy!
Oh, what a fine lunch I am going to have!"
Well, Flop was so frightened that he couldn't even walk, much less
run, and all he could do was to squeal, "Oh dear!"
The pie lady heard him, and came running to the door of the
bungalow.
"What is the matter?" she asked, and then she saw the wolf.
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