We did not know his name, nor did we
realize that he was selling the meat he handed out, only that we wanted
some. So, after all the others had gone, we addressed him, asking,
"Grandpa, please give us a little piece of meat."
He looked at us, and inquired whose children we were, and where we
lived. Upon learning, he turned about, lifted a liver from a wooden peg
and cut for each, a generous slice.
On our way out, a neighbor intercepted us and said that we should sleep
at her house that night and see our sisters in the morning. She also
gave us permission to cook our pieces of liver over her bed of live
coals. Frances offered to cook them all on her stick, but Georgia and I
insisted that it would be fun for each to broil her own. I, being the
smallest child, was given the shortest stick, and allowed to stand
nearest the fire. Soon the three slices were sizzling and browning from
the ends of three willow rods, and smelled so good that we could hardly
wait for them to be done. Presently, however, the heat began to burn my
cheeks and also the hand that held the stick. The more I wiggled about,
the hotter the fire seemed, and it ended in Frances having to fish my
piece of liver from among the coals, burned in patches, curled over
bits of dying embers, and pretty well covered with ashes, but she knew
how to scrape them away, and my supper was not spoiled.
Our neighbor gave us breakfast next morning and spruced us up a bit,
then led us to the house where a number of persons had gathered, most
of them sitting at table laughing and talking, and among them, Elitha
and Leanna.
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