Allan came back breathless.
"Grandpa says you can go as far as you like and you needn't come back till you get ready!" He shifted from one foot to the other and absently ate a warm cookie from the jarful at his hand.

He thought this seemed not quite the correct attitude to take toward him, yet he did not waver.

They would be sorry enough in a few days, when it was too late.
"I guess I better take a few of these along with me," he said, stowing cookies in the pockets of his jacket.

He would have liked one of the big preserved peaches all punctuated with cloves, but he saw no way to carry it, and felt really unable to eat it on the spot.
"Well, good-bye!" he called to Clytie, turning back to her from the door.
"Good-bye! Won't you shake hands with me ?" Very solemnly he shook her big, floury hand.
"Now--could I take Penny along ?" (Penny was an inconsequential dog that had been given to Clytie by one whom she called Cousin Bill J.) "Yes, you'll need a dog to keep the animals off.

Now be sure you write to us--at least twice a year--don't forget!" And, brutally before his very eyes, she handed the sniffing and virtuous Allan two of the largest, most goldenly beautiful oranges ever beheld by man.
Bitterly the self-exiled turned from this harrowing scene and strode toward his box.
Here ensued a fresh complication.