The following afternoon when Weng was in school,

his mother had a fright while making his bed.

Mr. Fun was oiling the family tricycle in the kitchen.

It would soon be time for Mr. Fun and his wife

to pick up the afternoon vegetables

and pedal them back to the corner for selling.

“You need to speak to our son,” Mrs. Fun said,

standing in the doorway.

“He’s been sneaking food into his room.”

“Sneaking food?”

Mrs. Fun found her husband’s hands.

“What is this?” he said. “A tomato?”

“It was under his pillow!”