"He shared with the Chunchuses."
"Yes, but that's what I don't understand. They had nothing left yesterday: where did they get food to-day?"
Bob hesitated, but knowing that the truth must come out sooner or later, he at last said:
"We had a little beef—horse-beef, in fact; very like the real thing."
Ethel shuddered. Mrs. Pottle gasped, then cried indignantly:
"I am ashamed of you, Mr. Fawcett. I am not thinking of the poor beast. It is a shame to deceive me. You could have had rice: I would have boiled it for you myself."
"But, my dear Mrs. Pottle, we don't know how long we may be cooped up here; and if I used your rice you would be reduced to eating the mules."
Mrs. Pottle looked at him. Her plump cheeks turned a little green. Then with a forced laugh she said:
"Well, by all accounts I've eaten worse. I don't say I relish mules, but if it comes to that—"
"Don't worry, auntie," interposed Ethel. "There is still some rice left. Mr. Fawcett will find a way out of this difficulty, I am sure."