“You’re safely back, are you?” asked Mrs. Burton, anxious to know what had happened, but fearing to ask.
“Oh, yes, we’re back, but that don’t do us any good.”
“Why, what can be the matter with my dear little Budge?”
“A good deal,” sighed Budge. “There’ some awful funny things in this world, Aunt Alice, an’ they ain’t nice either.”
“Tell me all about them, dear.”
“Well, I was awful disappointed to-day. We found sixteen eggs in a nest, an’ I came all the way home to get somethin’ to cook ’em in, an’ I carried some salt an’ pepper with me to help ’em to taste nice, an’ when we cooked ’em, what do you think? There was a little chicken inside of each of ’em!”
“Dis—gusting!” exclaimed Mrs. Burton.
“I know it is,” said Budge; “an’ I guess you’d have thought so more yet if you’d been there when we opened ’em. You know how nice eggs smell when you open ’em? Well, those eggs didn’t even smell good a bit.”
“Let’s talk of something else, Budge,” said Mrs. Burton, instinctively raising her handkerchief to her nose.
“But I ain’t through yet,” said Budge. “I want to know why the little chickens didn’t come out of their shell to their mamma, instead of waiting to bother us?”