"I am ravenous!"
"Then why not come home and eat it?"
"Home?"
"Instead of echoing my words and staring the poor moon out of countenance? Come," and, with the word, she turned and led the way to the cottage. And behold, the candles were lighted, the table was spread with a snowy cloth, and a pot simmered upon the hob: a pot that gave forth an odor delectable, and over which Charmian bent forthwith, and into which she gazed with an anxious brow and thrust an inquiring fork.
"I think it's all right!"
"I'm sure of it," said I, inhaling the appetizing aroma—"but, pray, where did you get it?"
"A man sold it to me—he had a lot of them."
"Hum!" said I, "probably poached."
"I bought this for sixpence—out of the old shoe."
"Sixpence?—then they certainly were poached. These are the Cambourne Woods, and everything upon them fish, flesh, or fowl, living or dead—belongs to the Lady Sophia Sefton of Cambourne."