“Yes, the great Mother Earth has rewarded our exertions,” said Fritz thoughtfully. “It is wonderful how she yields to those who cultivate her properly! I can see that we’ll have bushels of potatoes—enough to last us through the winter.”
“Aye, and peas and beans, too,” chorussed Eric. “Look, here, at this lot, Fritz! I believe we can have a dish of them to-day.”
“What, to keep up the festival with?” said his brother, smiling. “I see you are still thinking of that; but, methinks, green peas at Christmas will be rather an anachronism!”
“Hang the what-do-you-call-it—oh, anachronism!” cried the lad impulsively. “When we’re at Rome we must do as Rome does.”
“I don’t remember, though, that the citizens of ‘The city on the seven hills’ ate peas in December, as far as my reading of the classics go,” remarked Fritz ironically.
He liked to “pick up” his brother sometimes in fun.
“Ah, that was because they were pagans, and didn’t keep up our Christmas ceremonies!” cried Eric triumphantly. “Still, Romans or no Romans, I declare we’ll have a rare banquet to-day, brother, eh!”
“No roast beef, I hope!”
“Oh no, bother it—something better than that! You just let me alone and you’ll see bye-and-bye!”
“All right, laddie, I don’t mind leaving the cooking in your hands, now,” said Fritz kindly, wishing to blot out the recollection of his last remark. “You have had experience since your first memorable attempt, which I must say was perhaps excusable under the circumstances.”