those tomato cans undah the ash-hoppah. Then we'll make us a mud oven
an' roast us some duck aigs. Nobody but me knows where the nest is."

Bud's eyes shone. The prospect was an inviting one.

Most of the morning passed quickly, but the last half-hour was spent in
impatiently waiting for their dinner. They knew it was spread out under
a newspaper on the rickety old table, but they had strict orders not to
touch it until Aunt Susan sounded her signal for Uncle Billy. So they
sat watching the house across the road.

"Now it's time!" cried Bud excitedly. "I see Aunt Susan goin' around the
end of the house with her spoon."

An old cross-cut saw hung by one handle from a peg in the stick chimney.
As she beat upon it now with a long, rusty iron spoon, the din that
filled the surrounding air was worse than any made by the noisiest gong
ever beaten before a railroad restaurant. Uncle Billy, hoeing in a
distant field, gave an answering whoop, and waved his old hat.

The children raced into the house and tore the newspaper from the table.
Under it were three cold boiled potatoes, a dish of salt, a cup of
molasses, and a big pone of corn-bread. As head of the family, John Jay
divided everything but the salt exactly into thirds, and wasted no time
in ceremonies before beginning. As soon as the last crumb was finished
he spread an old quilt in front of the fireplace, where the embers,
though covered deep in ashes, still kept the hearth warm.

No coaxing was needed to induce Ivy to lie down. Even if she had not
been tired and sleepy she would have obeyed. John Jay's word was law in