“Gogo, please, it is very sad; but if I am to go on being a hamadryad
I must be fed. Gogo, what is in the pot?”
He lifted his head, with a sigh.
“Snipe,” he said, most tragically.
“Ah! What else?”
“A hare, a partridge, teal.”
“O!”
“Onions, potatoes, carrots.”
“O--o!”
“Larks, chestnuts”--
“Be quiet, lest I cry. You are the best of creatures, and I am the
hungriest.”
“Eat what you will. It is my _pot au feu_--nothing finished before the
next is added.”
“I can wait no longer. You are the hermit of hermits. Who is your
commissariat-general?”
“Who but the child your little friend.”
“My”--
“Miss Grant.”
“Patty!”
He had arisen, and come across to me.
“She lays it in a hollow tree, twice a week, and twice a week I go
down by night and fetch it.”