There were bass to be caught from the rocky point. “So we must have at least one meal of fish every day,” declared Thyrsis.
“I’m willing,” said Corydon—“if you’ll catch them.”
“And then, there are lots of squirrels about.”
“Squirrels!” cried she.
“Yes. I can knock one over with a stone now and then—you’ll see.”
“But, Thyrsis! To eat them!”
“Did you ever taste one?” he laughed.
“But it’s cruel!” she exclaimed; and he thought to himself, How like the little Corydon of old!
“Wait till I’ve skinned him and fried him in bacon grease,” he answered.
And even so it proved. Corydon was troubled by the crisp little toes turned up in the air, but when these had been cut off, she yielded to the allurements of odor and taste. “I’m nothing but a digesting machine nowadays!” she lamented.