“Oh mother!” cried he, “this is so good! So delicious!”
“Greedy little boy!” exclaimed she in a fright. “What have you got there! Don't swallow it, whatever you do. Very likely it is poisonous! Spit it all out this minute!” And the anxious mother quickly extracted from the rosy little mouth the remains of a small fig.
“Where did you find this?” said I.
“There are thousands lying among the grass yonder,” replied the little boy. “They taste very nice. I thought poison was nasty. Do you think they will hurt me? The pigeons and the hens are gobbling them up with all their might and main, papa!”
“I think you have no cause for alarm, dear wife,” I said. “The trees seem to be the fig-bearing mangrove of the Antilles. But remember, Franz, you must never eat anything without first showing it to me, never mind how good it seems. If birds and monkeys eat a fruit or vegetable, it is usually safe to believe it wholesome,” added I, turning to the other boys who instantly taking the hint, coaxed Franz to give them the figs he still had in his pocket, and ran to offer them to Knips, who was closely watching the skinning of the tiger-cat and porcupine, apparently giving his opinion on the subject with much chattering and gesticulation.
“Here, Knips, allow me to present you with a fig!” cried Jack, holding out one to the funny little creature.
Knips took it readily, and after turning it about, and sniffing and smelling it, he popped it into his mouth, with such a droll grimace of delight and satisfaction that the boys all laughed and clapped their hands, crying, “Bravo, Knips! you know a good thing when you see it, don't you, old fellow! Hurrah!”
My wife, with her mind set at rest on the question of the figs, now continued her preparations for dinner.
The flesh of the margay was given to the dogs, but part of the porcupine was put on the fire to boil, while we reserved the rest for roasting.
