“Yes. I can knock one over with a stone now and then--you’ll see.” “But, Thyrsis! To eat them!” “Did you ever taste one?” he laughed. “But it’s cruel!” she exclaimed; and he thought to himself, How like the little Corydon of old! “Wait till I’ve skinned him and fried him in bacon grease,” he answered. And even so it proved. Corydon was troubled by the crisp little toes turned up in the air, but when these had been cut off, she yielded to the allurements of odor and taste. “I’m nothing but a digesting machine nowadays!” she lamented. To which Thyrsis replied in the words of the village-girl in “Faust,” “‘She feeds two when she eats!’” They had been obliged to give up their attempt to live on prunes and turnips. For the doctor had warned them that Corydon must have plenty of “good nourishing food”; and this warning was backed up by all her women acquaintances--and also by Corydon’s own inner voices. The appetite that she developed was appalling to them--not only as to quantity but as to quality. She would find herself unable to eat anything they had in their pantry, and with a craving for the wildest and most impossible things; or she would not know what she wanted--and would travel to the store and gaze about at the provisions, until a sudden illumination came. Sometimes she would be so hungry for it that she could not wait to get home, but would sit down by the road-side and devour the contents of the market-basket. To these cravings she yielded religiously, because she had been told that they represented vital needs of her system. Some one had told her an appalling tale about a pregnant woman who had been possessed by a desire for bananas; and because she had not gratified it, the baby when born had cried for five weeks--until they had fed it a banana! These strange experiences lent new interest to their intimacy. They went through all the journey of maternity together. Pretty soon the changes in her body began to be noticeable; and day by day they would watch these. How wonderful it all was, how incredible! Thyrsis would sink upon his knees before her, and clasp his arms about her and laugh “She’s going to have a little baby!” And Corydon would blush and protest; she did not like to be teased about it--she was still only half reconciled to it. “I’m only a child myself!” she would cry. “I’ve no education--nothing! And I’m not fit for it!” Then he would have to comfort her, telling her that life was long, and that the child would be something to study.