But Tommy Smith was too busy to say anything just then. He had gone down on his hands and knees, and was looking at the eggs, for they interested him more even than the little peewit that had just been hatched. They were such funny-shaped eggs, large at one end and pointed at the other, something like a small pear, Tommy Smith thought, and they lay in the little hollow with their pointed ends all meeting together in the middle of it. They were of a greenish yellow colour, with great black splotches upon them. Of course they were much smaller than the eggs that a hen lays, but still, Tommy Smith thought, they were large eggs for a peewit to lay. A peewit is hardly so large as a pigeon, but these eggs were a good deal larger than a pigeon’s egg. “Yes, they are very nice eggs,” he said at last, as he got up from his hands and knees. “Are they good to eat?”
“Yes,” said the father peewit, “they are”; and as he said this he looked very, very sad.
“Yes, they are good to eat,” said the mother peewit, as she nestled down on her eggs again. “Oh, how I wish they were not!”
“Why?” said Tommy Smith. (He was only a little boy, or he would not have asked such questions.)
“I will tell you why,” said the mother peewit. “There are bad men who come and take our eggs because they are so good to eat, and then they sell them to greedy wretches, who are still worse than themselves. Oh, how wicked men are! Just fancy! They eat our poor little children whilst they are still in their cradles.”
“Yes,” said the father peewit, “for the mere pleasure of eating, they will ruin thousands of families.”
“Is it so very wicked to eat eggs?” asked Tommy Smith. “I have eaten a great many myself.”
“What! peewit’s eggs?” cried both the birds together.
“Oh no,” said Tommy Smith feeling very uncomfortable. “But I have often eaten fowl’s eggs.”
“That is different,” said the mother peewit. “We will say nothing about that.”