“As to that,” said Ernest, “I found something very good to eat, as well as Jack, only I could not get at them without wetting my feet.”
“Pooh!” cried Jack, “I know what he saw—nothing but some nasty mussels; I saw them too. Who wants to eat trash like that? Lobster for me!”
“I believe them to be oysters, not mussels,” returned Ernest calmly.
“Be good enough, my philosophical young friend, to fetch a few specimens of these oysters in time for our next meal,” said I; “we must all exert ourselves, Ernest, for the common good, and pray never let me hear you object to wetting your feet. See how quickly the sun has dried Jack and me.”
“I can bring some salt at the same time,” said Ernest. “I remarked a good deal lying in the crevices of the rocks; it tasted very pure and good, and I concluded it was produced by the evaporation of sea-water in the sun.”
“Extremely probable, learned sir,” cried I; “but if you had brought a bagful of this good salt instead of merely speculating so profoundly on the subject, it would have been more to the purpose. Run and fetch some directly.”
It proved to be salt sure enough, although so impure that it seemed useless, till my wife dissolved and strained it, when it became fit to put in the soup.
“Why not use the sea-water itself?” asked Jack.
“Because,” said Ernest, “it is not only salt, but bitter too. Just try it.”
“Now,” said my wife, tasting the soup with the stick with which she had been stirring it, “dinner is ready, but where can Fritz be?” she continued, a little anxiously....