out an interval of
repose. The Professors had imagined my father to be a poacher and a
ranger; they had imagined the quails to be wanted for Sunday's banquet;
they had imagined that they imagined (at least Panky had) that they were
about to eat landrails; they were now exhausted, and cowered down into
the grass of their ordinary conversation, paying no more attention to my
father than if he had been a log. He, poor man, drank in every word they
said, while seemingly intent on nothing but his quails, each one of which
he cut up with a knife borrowed from Hanky. Two had been plucked
already, so he laid these at once upon the clear embers.

"I do not know what we are to do with ourselves," said Hanky, "till
Sunday. To-day is Thursday--it is the twenty-ninth, is it not? Yes, of
course it is--Sunday is the first. Besides, it is on our permit.
To-morrow we can rest; what, I wonder, can we do on Saturday? But the
others will be here then, and we can tell them about the statues."

"Yes, but mind you do not blurt out anything about the landrails."

"I think we may tell Dr. Downie."

"Tell nobody," said Panky.

They then talked about the statues, concerning which it was plain that
nothing was known. But my father soon broke in upon their conversation
with the first instalment of quails, which a few minutes had sufficed to
cook.

"What a delicious bird a quail is," said Hanky.

"Landrail, Hanky, landrail," said the other reproachfully.

Having finished the first birds in a very few minutes they returned to
the statues.

"Old Mrs. Nosnibor," said Panky, "says the Sunchild told her they were
symbolic of ten tribes who had incurred the displeasure of the sun, his
father."

I make no comment on my father's feelings.

"Of the sun! his fiddlesticks' ends," retorted Hanky. "He never called
the sun his father. Besides, from all I have heard about him, I take it
he was a precious idiot."

"O Hanky, Hanky! you will wreck the whole thing if you ever allow
yourself to talk in that way."

"You are more likely to wreck it yourself, Panky, by never doing so.
People like being deceived, but they like also to have an inkling of
their own deception, and you never inkle them."

"The Queen," said Panky, returning to the statues, "sticks to it that . .
. "

"Here comes another bird," interrupted Hanky; "never mind about the
Queen."

The bird was soon eaten, whereon Panky again took up his parable about
the Queen.

"Th