On a full Southern breakfast and a wonderful French luncheon and
dinner a grown man can get through the day very, very well indeed, as
I bear witness.

Howsomever, as spring wore into summer and summer ran its course, I
began to long with a constantly increasing longing for certain
distinctive dishes to be found nowhere except in my native clime;
brook trout, for example, and roasting ears, and--Oh, lots of things!
So I came home to get them.

And, now that I've had them, I often catch myself in the act of
thoughtfully dwelling upon the fond remembrances of those spicy
fragrant stews eaten in peasant kitchens, and those army doughnuts,
and those slices of bacon toasted at daybreak on the lids of mess kits
in British dugouts.

I suppose they call contentment a jewel because it is so rare.

* * * * *


BY IRVIN S. COBB

FICTION

THOSE TIMES AND THESE
LOCAL COLOR
OLD JUDGE PRIEST
FIBBLE, D.D.
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