AS THEY DREW NEAR AN ODOR AROSE THAT WAS THE BEST KIND OF PO’TRY IN ITSELF
These were the four opening lines and there were to be another four to be recited by Ronald, in which Stumpy was to be asked to recount the incidents of his visit. These were never composed, however, for just as the last line of the first verse was thought out, a turn in the path disclosed Stumpy and the chowder-kettle, and as they drew near an odor arose that was the best kind of po’try in itself. A large school of porpoises, far out at sea, had just smelled it distinctly and asked for a holiday to find out what it was, and Ronald exclaimed, as his nose wrinkled and wrinkled and sniffed and sniffed, “That’s the best smell I ever smelled since I lived in this country!”
“You bet good smell!” laughed the old sailor. “Everything good in that chowder, but how you children get along all last week without Stumpy, hey?”
“Stump-ery true-ery,
We love you-ery!”
cried Lesley, hugging him hard.
“Oh-ery, how-ery we-ery you-ery miss-ery!” shouted Ronald, in a burst of eloquence.
“Well,” said Stumpy, “I ask boss for time off some day and learn your language. Pretty hard learn, I guess. Maybe you better learn Spanish; then we all three have secret. Come now, you get plate and spoon, little son; we have dinner.”
If it wasn’t time for dinner by the clock, it was by the stomach, and no geese fattened for killing could have been rounder and shinier than the picnickers were when the meal was over. A walk to the cave where their father had once saved nine lives from a wreck had been promised the children, but rest on a smooth rock seemed better after such a feast, and after much coaxing Stumpy consented to tell a story, meantime.