“Hungry?” repeated Miss Campbell, watching, unmoved, the process of shaking the pine needles from the bread. “Starving, rather. If I don’t have my dinner in a minute, I shall be light enough to float away like a thistledown.”
“Who said starving?” cried Dr. Hume, joining the circle. “If there were a stronger word, I’d use it.”
“Famished?” suggested Ben.
“Perishing for want of food,” added Elinor.
Nancy and Billie exchanged glances of dismay and Billie impotently poked the pot of vegetables with a long peeled wand.
“What’s that thing that looks like an emigrant’s roll?” demanded the doctor.
“It won’t explode, I hope,” remarked Miss Campbell, noticing that the roll of meat seemed to be bursting its bonds in the process of roasting.
“Poor thing, it does seem to be suffering,” said Dr. Hume gravely. “There is some enlargement taking place in its internal organs, due to heat expansion, I judge.”
“I guess that animal, whatever it is, feels something like an early Christian martyr,” put in Percy.
“What is the creature?” inquired Miss Campbell, raising her tortoise shell lorgnette in order the better to see the writhing form over the flames.