"Put it out of sight," the latter entreated, looking nauseated.
But as soon as the Tenor had accomplished his mandate, his good humour returned, and he began to beam again. "What a duffer you are!" he said, taking the lid off the dish he held in his hand. "You have no imagination. You never lifted a dish cover. Why, I've found a dozen eggs—fresh, for I broke one into a cup to see; and here are a whole lot of cold potatoes."
"It doesn't sound appetizing; cold potatoes and raw eggs!"
"Sound! It isn't sound you judge by in matters of this kind. Just you wait, and you shall see, smell, and taste."
"Well, if it please you," the Tenor answered lazily. "I see something already. You have lighted a fire."
"Yes, and I've used all the dry sticks," said the Boy, with great glee.
"Won't the old woman swear when she comes in the morning!"
The Tenor returned to his book, reflecting, as he prepared to resume it, on the wonderful provision of nature which endows the growing animal not only with such strong instincts of self-preservation, but with the power to gratify them, and to take itself off at the same time and be happy in so doing, thus saving those who have outgrown these natural proclivities from some of their less agreeable consequences.
Presently a hot red face appeared at the door. "Did you say you liked your eggs turned?" the Boy wanted to know.
"I didn't say; but I do, if you're frying them."
"And hard or soft?"