imes when Bert had been with them, singing his
songs or ranting about the last of the Mohicans.

"Now, listen; I'm going to teach you something," Hall commanded, a large
round rock poised in his hand above the abalone meat. "You must never,
never pound abalone without singing this song. Nor must you sing this
song at any other time. It would be the rankest sacrilege. Abalone
is the food of the gods. Its preparation is a religious function. Now
listen, and follow, and remember that it is a very solemn occasion."

The stone came down with a thump on the white meat, and thereafter arose
and fell in a sort of tom-tom accompaniment to the poet's song:

"Oh! some folks boast of quail on toast, Because they think it's tony;
But I'm content to owe my rent And live on abalone.

"Oh! Mission Point's a friendly joint Where every crab's a crony, And
true and kind you'll ever find The clinging abalone.

"He wanders free beside the sea Where 'er the coast is stony; He flaps
his wings and madly sings--The plaintive abalone.

"Some stick to biz, some flirt with Liz Down on the sands of Coney; But
we, by hell, stay in Carmel, And whang the abalone."

He paused with his mouth open and stone upraised. There was a rattle
of wheels and a voice calling from above where the sacks of mussels had
been carried. He brought the stone down with a final thump and stood up.

"There's a thousand more verses like those," he said. "Sorry I hadn't
time to teach you them." He held out his hand, palm downward. "And now,
children, bless you, you are now members of the clan of Abalone Eaters,
and I solemnly enjoin you, never, no matter what the circumstances,
pound abalone meat without chanting the sacred words I have revealed
unto you."

"But we can't remember the words from only one hearing," Saxon
expostulated.

"That shall be attended to. Next Sunday the Tribe of Abalone Eaters will
descend upon you here in Bierce's Cove, and you will be able to see the
rites, the writers and writeresses, down even to the Iron Man with the
basilisk eyes, vulgarly known as the King of the Sacerdotal Lizards."

"Will Jim Hazard come?" Billy called, as Hall disappeared into the
thicket.

"He will certainly come. Is he not the Cave-Bear Pot-Walloper and
Gridironer, the most fearsome, and, next to me, the most exalted, of all
the Abalone Eaters?"

Saxon and Billy could only look at each other till they heard the wheels
rattle away.

"Well, I'll be doggoned,"