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"And and after we go by the Big Rock?" ventured Gwendolyn. The little old gentleman smiled. "Ah, then!" he said, " then we come to the Pillery!" "Oh!" She considered the reply. Pillery it was a word she had never chanced upon in the large Dictionary. Yet she felt she could hardly ask any questions about it. She had asked so many already.
It turned browner and browner, too, precisely as if it were baking in his hands! When he was finished with it, he piled it to one side, atop other brown pellets. She advanced to speak. "Please," she began, pointing a small finger, "what is this place?" He glanced up. "This, little girl, is the Pillery." The Pillery! Instantly she knew what he was making bread-pills.
He caught it between his palms, after which he began to roll it precisely as he had rolled the dough at the Pillery. And as the salt worked into a more perfect ball, it slowly browned! Gwendolyn clapped her hands. "My father won't know the difference," she cried. "You get my idea exactly," answered the Bird.
Peple which hung idiotic old wimin for witches, burnt holes in Quakers' tongues and consined their feller critters to the tredmill and pillery on the slitest provocashun may hav bin very nice folks in their way, but I must confess I don't admire their stile, and will pass them by. I spose they ment well, and so, in the novel and techin langwidge of the nusepapers, "peas to their ashis."
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