Mrs. Kuntzman opened her door to the young playwrights, and they were greeted by her smiling face, her flour-dusted green apron, and a warm waft of cinnamon and apples.
“Come in, come in! I have apple strudel for youse all, fresh from the oven!”
She stopped short when she saw Henry, and tucked her chin in surprise.
“This is my friend I told you about. Henry,” said Gabriel. “This is Mrs. Kuntzman, our babysitter, and one of the best cooks in the whole wide world.”
Mrs. Kuntzman clasped her hands. “Mein Gott im Himmel! I expected a little boy. Come in, come in.”
Henry offered his hand. “Henry Hankel, at your service, ma’am.” He inhaled deeply through his nose, turning his head side to side. “If I’m not mistaken, that’s genuine Bavarian apfelstrudel, just like my Oma used to make. Ten to one there’re raisins in there.”
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