As a slight concession to grown-up people's prejudices, they did, at
the risk of their dear potatoes getting cold, scamper up to perform a
species of toilette, and then sat down round the tea-table, Susie,
David, and Sam each vociferous that Miss Fosbrook should eat "my
potato that I did on purpose for her." Poor Miss Fosbrook! she would
nearly as soon have eaten the bonfire itself as those cinder-coated
things, tough as leather outside, and within like solid smoke.
Indeed the children, who had been bathing in smoke all day, had
brought in the air of it with them; but their tongues ran fast on
their adventures, and their taste had no doubt that their own bonfire
potatoes were the most perfect cookery in art! Miss Fosbrook picked
out the most eatable bits of each of the three, and managed to
satisfy the three cooks, all zealous for their own. Other people's
potatoes might be smoky, but each one's own was delicious--"quite
worthy of the pig when he was bought," thought Miss Fosbrook; but she
made her real pleasure at the kind feeling to cover her dislike of
the black potatoes, and thus pleased the children without being
untrue.
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