their entertainment, Quince making a rapid escape from Winterbottom, the
latter remaining on the bank. "Jenkins," said he to the man christened
Caliban, "you did not forget the salad?"

"No, sir, I brought it myself. It's on the top of the little hamper."

Mr Winterbottom, who, it appears, was extremely partial to salad, was
satisfied with the reply, and walked slowly away.

"Well," said Tom to me, wiping the perspiration from his brow with his
handkerchief, "I wouldn't have missed this for anything. I only wish
father had been here. I hope that young lady will sing again before we
part."

"I think it very likely, and that the fun is only begun," replied I.
"But come, let's lend a hand to get the prog out of the boat."

"Pat! pat! and here's a marvellous convenient place for our rehearsal.
This green plot shall be our stage," cried Quince, addressing the others
of the party.

The locality was approved of, and now all were busy in preparation. The
hampers were unpacked, and cold meats, poultry, pies of various kinds,
pastry, etcetera, appeared in abundance.

"This is no manager's feast," said Tinfoil; "the fowls are not made of
wood, nor is small beer substituted for wine. Don Juan's banquet to the
Commendador is a farce to it."

"All the manager's stage banquets are farces, and very sorry jokes into
the bargain," replied another.

"I wish old Morris had to eat his own suppers."

"He must get a new set of teeth, or they'll prove a _deal_ too tough."

"Hiss! turn him out! he's made a _pun_."

The hampers were now empty; some laid the cloth upon the grass, and
arranged the plates, and knives and forks. The ladies were as busy as
the gentlemen--some were wiping the glasses, others putting salt into
the salt-cellars. Titania was preparing the salad. Mr Winterbottom,
who was doing nothing, accosted her; "May I beg as a favour that you do
not cut the salad too small? It loses much of its crispness."

"Why, what a Nebuchadnezzar you are! However, sir, you shall be
obeyed."

"Who can fry fish?" cried Tinfoil. "Here are two pairs of soles and
some eels. Where's Caliban?"

"Here I am, sir," replied the man on his knees, blowing up a fire which
he had kindled. "I have got the soup to mind."

"Where's Stephano?"

"Cooling the wine, sir."

"Who, then, can fry fish, I ask?"

"I can, sir," replied Tom; "but not without butter."

"Butter shalt thou have, thou disturber of the element. Have we no