I was not a whit the less resolved to see my cousins.

One day my father bustled home.

"Upon my whine," said he, "they live on the fat of the land. Scraps of
all kinds, apples, and a dish of bread and milk under their very noses.
I sat inside a gorse bush on the bank, and watched them till my mouth
watered."

The next day he reported--

"They've cooked one--in clay. There are only five now."

And the next day--

"They've cooked another. Now there are only four."

"There won't be a cousin left if I wait much longer," thought I.

On the morrow there were only three.

My mother began to cry. "My poor dear nephews and nieces!" said she
(though she had never seen them). "What a world this is!"

"We must take it as we eat eggs," said my father, with that air of
wisdom which naturally belongs to the sayings of the head of the family,
"the shell with the yolk. And they have certainly had excellent
victuals."

Next morning he went off as usual, and I crept stealthily after him.