r their
resting-place; and on reaching the fire they found that the black had
come close up, and seeing his grubs neglected, was busy roasting and
eating them.

He looked up, laughing good-humouredly, drew out three or four of the
freshly-roasted delicacies from the embers with a bit of pointed stick,
and held them up to the boys.

"Good," he said.

"Well, you eat 'em," replied Norman.

The black needed no further invitation, but devoured the nicely-browned
objects with great gusto, and smacked his lips.

"I say," cried Tim; "they don't smell bad."

"Ugh!" ejaculated Rifle.

"Seems so nasty," said Norman, as he watched the black attentively,
while the fellow carefully arranged some more of the delicacies among
the embers. "They're great fine caterpillars, that's what they are."

"But they smell so good," said Tim. "I've often eaten caterpillars in
cauliflower."

"So have I," said Norman; "but then we didn't know it."

"And caterpillars lived on cauliflower, so that they couldn't be nasty."

"I don't see that these things could be any worse to eat than shrimps.
Old Shanter here seems to like them."

"Old Shanter--O' Shanter--old Tam o' Shanter," said Rifle, thoughtfully.

"You'd better help him to eat them," said Norman, tauntingly.

"I'll eat one if you will," cried Tim. "They smell delicious."

"Very well. I will, if Rifle does too," said Norman.

"Then you won't," said that young gentleman. "Ugh! the nasty-looking
things."

"So are oysters and mussels and cockles nasty-looking things," cried
Tim, who kept on watching the black eagerly. "I never saw anything so
nasty-looking as an old eel. Ugh! I'd as soon eat a snake."

"Snakum good eat," said Shanter, nodding.

"You eat one, then," cried Norman. "I'll shoot the first I see."

"Look here," cried Tim; "are either of you two going to taste one of
these things?"

"No," cried both the others; "nor you. You daren't eat one."

"Oh, daren't I? You'll see," replied Tim. "Here, Shanter, give me that
brown one."

"Good!" cried the black, raking out one looking of a delicate
golden-brown, but it was too hot to hold for a time; and Tim held it on
a pointed stick, looking at the morsel with his brow all puckered up.

"Go on, Tim; take it like a pill," cried Norman.

"He won't eat it: he's afraid," said Rifle.

"It's too hot yet," replied Tim.

"Yes, and always will be. Look out, Rifle; he'll pitch it over his
shoulder, and pretend he