He lifted his head, with a sigh.
“Snipe,” he said, most tragically.
“Ah! What else?”
“A hare, a partridge, teal.”
“O!”
“Onions, potatoes, carrots.”
“O—o!”
“Larks, chestnuts”—
“Be quiet, lest I cry. You are the best of creatures, and I am the hungriest.”
“Eat what you will. It is my pot au feu—nothing finished before the next is added.”