“Yes, but mind you do not blurt out anything about the landrails.”
“I think we may tell Dr. Downie.”
“Tell nobody,” said Panky.
They then talked about the statues, concerning which it was plain that nothing was known. But my father soon broke in upon their conversation with the first instalment of quails, which a few minutes had sufficed to cook.
“What a delicious bird a quail is,” said Hanky.
“Landrail, Hanky, landrail,” said the other reproachfully.
Having finished the first birds in a very few minutes they returned to the statues.
“Old Mrs. Nosnibor,” said Panky, “says the Sunchild told her they were symbolic of ten tribes who had incurred the displeasure of the sun, his father.”
I make no comment on my father’s feelings.
“Of the sun! his fiddlesticks’ ends,” retorted Hanky. “He never called the sun his father. Besides, from all I have heard about him, I take it he was a precious idiot.”