“Which shall we have?” said Miss Rutherford. “There’s Mulligatawny and Oxtail?”
“Mulligatawny is the hot sort,” said Priscilla, “rather like curry in flavour. I’m not sure that I care much for it. By the way, talking of hot things, didn’t you say you had some peppermint creams?”
Miss Rutherford produced the parcel. Priscilla put two into her mouth and made a little pile of six others beside her on the ground. Frank said that he would wait for his share till after he had his soup. Miss Rutherford took one. The desiccated Oxtail soup was emptied into the pot. Priscilla retained the paper in which it had been wrapped.
“‘Boil for twenty minutes,” she read, “‘stirring briskly.’ That can’t be really necessary. I’ve always noticed that these directions for use are too precautious. They go in frightfully for being on the safe side. I should say myself that we’d be all right in trying it after five minutes. And stirring is rather rot. Things aren’t a bit better for being fussed over. In fact Father says most things come out better in the end if they’re left alone. ‘Add salt to taste, and then serve.’ It would have been more sensible to say ‘then eat.’ But I suppose serve is a politer word. By the way, have you any salt?”
“Not a grain,” said Miss Rutherford. “I entirely forgot the salt.”
“It’s a pity,” said Priscilla, “that we didn’t think of putting in some sea water. Potatoes are ripping when boiled in sea water and don’t need any salt. Peter Walsh told me that once and I expect he knows, I never tried myself.”
She glanced at the sea as she spoke, feeling that it was, perhaps, not too late to add the necessary seasoning in its liquid form. A small boat, under a patched lug sail, was crossing the mouth of the bay at the moment. Priscilla sprang to her feet excitedly.
“That’s Flanagan’s old boat,” she said. “I’d know it a mile off. Jimmy! Jimmy Kinsella!”
Jimmy was securing the anchor of the Tortoise. He looked round.
“Isn’t that Flanagan’s old boat?” said Priscilla.