“Well, what else did they give you? Speak up, man! Why, we shall stand here all day!... What else was there?” “Ah ... well, sir, there was a kind of quaking jelly stuff, ... sort of sloppy mess it was, ... I don’t rightly know....” “Doesn’t matter to me whether it was sloppy or not; I shall have to pay for it just the same. Well, and after the jelly what? Shchi, no doubt. Did you eat shchi?” “Oh, ay, I ate it up, sartain sure....” “Well, then?” “Only, you see, sir, ’tis almost as if I hadn’t eaten it, like ...” The deacon put on a stern expression and continued gravely— “Well, and what did you have with the shchi? I suppose there was some kind of soup-meat with it, wasn’t there?” “Ay, ay, there were a wee bit, for sure ... but ’twas terrible fat—terrible fat, it was....” “What’s that to me? You ate it, I doubt, even if it was fat? Well, that’s all, I suppose. Or perhaps you had porridge too?” “No, there was something else ... the porridge come arter that....” “What then? Some kind of soup? Yes?” “Ay, ay, sir! That’s just it ... and all sorts of trotter things ... mucky stuff it was....” The peasant scratched his head. “Trotters! Well, you ate them, I suppose?” “Ah ... sir! ’Twas the weest bit I ate ... tru-_ly_!” “_What—the—deuce_ do you think any one cares _how much_ you ate? Well, get on; porridge now, is it?” Silence. “There can’t have been anything _more_? Something with the porridge, was it?” “Ay, sir, seems like as if there was something else besides the porridge.” “Pudding, was it?” “Something of that kind.” “And with what was the pudding served?” “Eh, sir, they always do put that fancy bread ... cake stuff ... you know, with pudding, but it was right old and hard, it were like a stone....” “H’m! and what did you have with the porridge?” “Eh, no, the porridge come arter that....” “After what?” “Ah ... fecks, sir, I don’t rightly know ... kind of mess ... the Lord knows what....” “Well, what kind of thing? [Illustration: “THE PEASANT SCRATCHED HIS HEAD.” ] The peasant began to help himself out by gesticulating with his hands. “You know, sir, kind of ... veal, isn’t? Veal ... something of that like.... All white and flabby....” “Con ... found the blockhead! And you gobbled that up too, did you?” “Of course, ... but ’twas all burnt to a chip....” “Never mind that!... Well, _is_ that all, at last?” Silence. “When are we coming to that porridge, I’d like to know?” “The porridge come arter that.” “After what?” Silence once more. “Can’t you speak?” “Eh-h! There was a turkey, or something of that like ... I don’t rightly mind what it was ... or maybe the mutton came first....” “Anything else?” “There was honey; only ’twas in the comb....” “My stars! The landlord’ll bring me in a fine bill for that! Is that all? Ah, no, the porridge!” “No, no, the porridge come arter that.”