People who think that the carnal joy of eating is of much importance at these camp-fires have vulgar, prosaic minds.
We heard the dinner-bell ringing just as we disposed of the second egg, and we hurried toward the house.
Ten minutes later (for it takes some time to remove from one's face and hands the evidences of a feast of roasted eggs) we appeared at the dinner-table. It was a long one, with Uncle Will at one end, Uncle Charley at the other. The eggs had not spoiled our appetites, and we ate, with nothing to disturb our pleasure, up to the point when blueberry pie came on. Then Uncle Will, his carving duties over, and his own share of the dinner consumed, leaned back in his chair and addressed Uncle Charley:—
"I was over at Bartlett's last night."
"That so?" returned Uncle Charley. "Did you speak about the peacocks?"
"About the peahen that's setting in the orchard? Yes. He knew she had been setting there on nothing for three days. The eggs came from New York yesterday, and he said he was going to send Foley over with them this morning."
Aunt Ellen showed an interest in the conversation. "Eggs from New York?" she queried.
"Yes," replied Uncle Will; "from the Zoo. They're peacocks' eggs. White peacocks, too. They cost him ten dollars apiece—forty dollars for the four. I told him 'twas a risky thing to leave them out in the orchard. Said I wouldn't be responsible. Bartlett said the peahen wouldn't set anywhere else. He'd have to take the chance. What are you going to do with a man like that?"
I glanced out of the corner of my eye at Jimmy Toppan. He was trying to insert a piece of blueberry pie in his mouth. Three times he made the attempt, and each time his aim was poor. I had a feeling as if my chair were sinking beneath me. The dining-room and the whole family of Toppans revolved about me in a blur.