“Raisins,” Lisa said, holding the small pellets in the palm of her hand. She popped one into her mouth. Suzan was scowling next to her, unhappy she had found no treasure herself.
“Oh!” said Kevin, leaning forward in his chair to watch Lisa handle the mole poop.
“Here, Alphus,” Lisa pulled Suzan over to where their brother was sitting.
“Lisa, don’t give those to your little brother,” Kevin said.
“Why?” her face confused with a tint of suspicion.
Lisa told him how they were grapes that had grown wrinkly like old women. She said maybe they used to grow them, right here in the yard, a million years ago. Maybe the dinosaurs put on aprons and baked them into pies or mashed them into jelly.
“That’s why these ones are so hard,” she told Kevin. They were dinosaur raisins. She rolled one over her tongue.
“Is that so? And uh missy, how many of them dinosaur raisins have you had?”
“They’re delicious. You can have some if you want. They’re all over the yard. I can find more… do you think I could sell them?”
Kevin eyed her face intently. She was busy moving the poop around on her palm. Suzan sneered at her.
“How much would you be selling them for?”
“I s’pose I could eat fifty-cents worth.” And he fished around his pockets, producing two blackened quarters. Lisa counted him out eight pellets, seven of which she watched him eat. The last one he gave to Suzan.