She balanced tremblingly on one leg, curling the other under her.
Padre Alonzo put the stout finger into the proffered claw. “So, so,” he said. “And I shall not tattle. But tell me: What would make thee forget to use thy sharp pruning shears? An apple? or seeds? or one of Gabrielda’s sweet bis–”
Loretta perked her head to one side. “To-o-ny, To-o-ny, To-o-ny,” she droned coaxingly.
The padre thrust his thumbs under the white cord of his girdle and broke into a guffaw. “Thou jade!” he teased. ”Wilt have Tony, eh? Well, I go to find him.” He gathered in his brown cassock, preparatory to stepping over the cacti here bordering the garden path. “But look you, if
