Lucy came through the doorway with a smile on her face and an armful of cabbages. "Look, Icky... these were in the garden shed. I'd forgotten I had stored them there. They should make a fine soup!" "Dey shure wills," replied Icky. "Dey looky reel purdy, Miz Lucy." As she passed the counter, Lucy glanced at a book Icky had left on top of her sleeping bag. "Have you been practicing your writing lessons, Icky?" she asked, opening it and glancing at the first page. "Oh my!" Lucy hesitated and cast a worried look in Icky's direction. "I had no idea you felt so strongly about this... perhaps I should have been less vocal about my own feelings on the subject." "Itz okays, Miz Lucy," replied Icky. "Yoos en mees tink alotz alikes 'bout freedem en stuffs. Wees belongz ta Pitmuck caus wees wantz too... en Ozog bees da king hear caus wees wantz himz ta bee. Wees notz needin noe ubber king. Noe whey noe hows." Lucy moved to the doorway to check the contents of the steward's backpack. "Hmmm," she murmured. "This repellent... do you think it will really work?" "Dunno... habnt hadz a chancey ta tries itz yet," said Icky. "Well, I rather hope we never have to actually test it." Lucy smiled. "It was nice of you to brew it, though. Perhaps it will come in handy one day for someone. One never knows." "Iz yoos likin mees writin?" asked Icky. "Mees gitten betters atz makin da letterz." Lucy laughed. "Why Icky! You just made a poem!" "Ohhhh... mees didz!" Icky giggled. "Mees soos happi." She hugged Lucy's skirt, then skipped off to her corner and grabbed her book. "Mess gonna rite anudder pome," she said. "A pome 'bout summur." "That's a wonderful idea," said Lucy. "You work on your poem, and I'll get busy making our soup."