“Ah, I am sure you could play beautifully,” he said, “because you said that so seriously! And were you playing all by yourself here when I came out? What are you playing with?” he added, looking at the brine-pot.
Edith groaned.
“You wouldn’t call it play if you knew,” she said. “Oh, Mr. Hugh, be a true friend and help a woman in distress! Just this once, and then we’ll go and walk round the place.”
“What am I to do?” he asked. “And are you the distressed woman?”
“Yes. Take this small wooden peg, and look at the second piece of potato there. You will find an immense slug. Gather it somehow on to the peg and drop it into that pot, which contains salt and water, and kills them, I am told, quite instantaneously and even pleasantly.”
“Why, certainly,” said Hugh cheerfully. “And do we have to examine all these bits of potato? My gracious, what an elephant! Do you know, I really don’t think I can do it.”
Edith heaved a sigh of relief.
“Oh, I’m so glad you can’t!” she said. “Because I was afraid I was being a coward.”
“Oh, we’re both cowards!” said Hugh.
“And aren’t you ashamed of us?”