She wondered who the girl might belong to as she patted dirt over the shallow grave. She tucked the mission Bible under her arm, and crooking a finger at Rollo, went forth to the west beach where the sou'-west surge piled up muddily, burdened with broken spars, crates, boxes, and weeds. She left for good after he fell asleep. Lucy had baked the apple and pumpkin pies, carefully molding the flour crusts and adding extra teaspoonfuls of allspice and cinnamon while no one looked. The discussion wandered, and was punctuated with bread and butter. You do not know him.
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