e their
big maple tree, and I waited a jiffy for him to go in the house and
get the camera, "_where_ have you boys been? I've been phoning all
over for you, Leslie"--meaning she had been phoning all over for
Poetry, _Leslie_ being the name which his parents used and which he
had to use himself when he signed his name in school ... but he would
rather be called Poetry.

"'Smatter?" Poetry asked his kinda round-shaped mom, "Didn't I do my
chores, or something?"

Then Poetry's mother startled us by saying, "We've had company. Mr.
Black was here. He just left a minute ago."

I had a queer feeling start creeping up my spine.

"What did he want--I mean, where did he go? Where'd you tell him we
were?" Poetry and I both said at the same time only in different
words, but with probably the same scared feeling inside, and thinking,
"What if she told him we were playing over on Bumblebee hill and he
had gone there?"

"He didn't seem to want anything in particular. He was out exercising
his horse. Such a beautiful big brown saddle horse!" Poetry's mother
said. "And such a very beautiful saddle. He looks very stunning in his
brown leather jacket and riding boots."

"What did he want?" Poetry said again, taking the words right out of
my mind, and Poetry's mom said, "Nothing in particular. He said he
wanted to get acquainted with the parents of his boys."

I looked at Poetry and he looked at me, and he said to his mom, "He's
too heavy for the horse," and his mother looked at Poetry who was also
heavy and said, "Too much blackberry pie, I suppose. You boys want a
piece?"

Poetry's face lit up, and he said, "We'll take a piece apiece," which
we did, and then I said to him all of a sudden, "The sun'll still be
shining on Mr. Black. If we want to get his picture, we'll have to
hurry!"

"Shining on _who_?" Poetry's mom said, and Poetry said, "The sun is
shining in through the window on my blackberry pie," and winked at me,
and his mom went into their parlor to answer the phone which was
ringing.

Poetry finished his pie at the same time, slithered out of his chair
and went up stairs to his room to get his camera, just as I heard his
mother say into their telephone, "Why yes, Mrs. Mansfield, we
do--certainly, I'll send Leslie right over with it right away--oh,
that's all right--no, he won't mind, I'm sure."

It sounded like an ordinary conversation any mother might have with
any ordinary neighbor. I'd heard my mom say somethi