"You didn't beat them long enough. Ormers take a lot of beating," she explained to Lady Elspeth.
"Thumping, she means. My mushrooms beat them hollow,—tender and delicate and fragrant"—and he sniffed appreciatively as though he could scent them still.—"Your ormers were like shoe-soles."
"And as to the mushrooms," continued Hennie Penny, "you'd never have found them if I hadn't tumbled into them, and then you thought they were toadstools."
"Oh well!—Who can't take a hook out of a whiting's mouth? Who was it screamed when the lobster looked at her?"
"It nearly took a piece out of me."
"Who nearly upset the boat when a baby devilfish came up in the pot? And it wasn't above that size!"
"I draw the line at devil-fish. They're no' canny."
"Do they generally go on like this?" asked Lady Elspeth of Margaret.
"All the time," said Margaret, with a matronly air. "They're just a couple of children. I keep them out of mischief as well as I can, but it's hard work at times."
"She's just every bit as bad, you know, when we're alone," said Miss Penny. "But she's got her company manners on just now. You should see her when she's bathing."