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In a cage of wire netting bearing the legend, “The Roc—The Egg,” the uncomfortable gander swayed and craned his neck; and all but his voice was satisfactory. In the bottom of the cage a whitewashed stone the size of a small pumpkin did duty as the egg. “This is Evelyn Dorr, and Vilette, her sister,” Mrs. Bennett was saying. Now he crept through the brush by the roadside till he came close under the west wall. The setting sun blazed red fire at him from the windows, reminding him sharply of the hour..
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“What’s the matter, Kiddie? Gee! Those big girls ought not to leave you alone with that fire; you’ll be cooked before the grub!” he grumbled while he mended the fire and propped the kettle. “Yum, yum! Things a-doin’ here. Makes a feller’s stomach feel like just before Thanksgiving dinner.” “Mebbe she’s all right,” admitted the boy. A loud whisper from Pete Stolway disturbed the orator. “Wharfmaster, ahoy!” Billy hailed, as they came near the water’s edge. “Is all ship-shape?”.
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