"Enough to make your head swim," said Mickey.
"Out with it!" ordered Peter.
"Well," said Mickey gravely, and seemingly intent on the separator, but
covertly watching Peter, "well, if you'd a-cut that window she's wanted
for fifteen years, right over her table there where the line comes, she
would a-been seeing that particular bit of glory--you notice Peter, that
probably there's nothing niftier on earth than just the little spot she's
been pining for; look good yourself, and you'll see, there she's just
climbing the hill to the apple tree--look at it carefully, and then step
inside and focus on what she's faced instead."
"What else does she want?" inquired Peter.
"She didn't mention anything but to watch sunup, just once, under that
apple tree," said Mickey. "I don't know _what_ she wants; but from one day
here, I could tell you things she _should_ have."
"Well go ahead and tell," said Peter.
"Will you agree not to break my neck 'til I get this cream in the can, and
what she keeps strained, and these buckets washed?" asked Mickey.
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