The adventure flashed on us suddenly the morning after my arrival at the farm.
In a sand-pit beyond the orchard it was the immemorial custom to build fires and roast potatoes and other eatables. Marks of fires long dead showed us that the practice extended far back, perhaps to the boys of prehistoric times, or to those whose fathers had shot the arrows whereof the flint heads lay beneath the surface of the meadow. Potatoes and apples were placed in the hot embers, and removed at the end of about twenty minutes. The apples were, by this time, roasted not wisely but too well. The potatoes had an outer region of softness, but at heart were firm and unyielding. Both were so covered with wood ashes that their consumption left streaks of soot all about the vicinity of the mouth, extending back even to the ears.
Potatoes and apples, thus prepared, had palled upon us. We sought for variety in the bill of fare, and this morning Jimmy proposed eggs.
"At clam-bakes they roast eggs in hot seaweed," declared Jimmy.
The idea was worthy, but eggs were not so easy to procure. A visit to the hen-house proved that the day's supply had already been gathered. Then, though Robinson Crusoe would hardly have done it, we applied at the kitchen. But Grandmother Toppan, who might have humored our whim, was away from home. The Power temporarily in command dismissed our request brusquely:--
"Ye byes git outer here, now, or I'll be afther takin' the paddle to yez."
We did not know what paddle was referred to, but we understood that we had leave to withdraw. We wondered if Robinson Crusoe ever met with humiliating rebuffs like that. It was impossible; no tyrannous cook could lord it over him while he carried that long gun.
But we had no gun, so, in dejection and despair, we wandered again toward the sand-pit. As we crossed the orchard, a startling event occurred. Some large bird rustled off through the grass, and in the little round hollow where she had been sitting gleamed four white objects. It was enough to renew our trust in the gods who favor the romantic in their everlasting encounters with the practical folk of the world.
And eggs obtained under conditions that our friend Crusoe need not have scorned. To us the adventure said in no unmistakable tones: Abase yourself not before cooks when your spoil is at hand. Trust Providence, as did the Swiss Family Robinson.