ungodly affinity for taints of almost every kind.
Hence keep them away from such things as onions, salt fish, things in
brine generally, or any strong ill odors.

Duck eggs are bigger than hen eggs--eight of them being the equivalent
to ten. Goose eggs run almost two for one. Turkey eggs, rarely used in
cookery, are still excellent eating, much better flavored than duck
eggs, which are often rather rank. Here as otherwheres, food is the
determining factor. Guinea eggs, in spite of being so much smaller, are
equal in raising power and in richness to hen eggs. Indeed, they are the
best of all eggs for eating--rich, yet delicate. The only approach to
them is the quail egg--we called it always a partridge egg--but only
special favorites of the gods have any chance of ever tasting them.
Quail nest frequently in wheat fields--at harvest, the uncovered nests
yielded choice spoil. Daddy claimed the lion's share of it for "my white
chilluns." Often he came with his big hat-crown running over full of
the delicate white ovals. Mormonism must prevail in quail
circles--sometimes there were forty eggs in a nest. It would have been
vandalism of the worst to eat them, only it was no use leaving them bare
to the sun, as the birds abandoned them unless they had begun brooding.
In that case the mother sat so tight, occasionally the reaper, passing
over, took off her head. More commonly she flew away just in time,
whirring up between the mules, with a great pretense of lameness. If the
nest by good luck was discovered in time, grain was left standing about
it. Nobody grudged the yard or so of wheat lost for the sake of sport.

Partridge eggs were boiled hard, and eaten out of hand--they were much
too thin-shelled for roasting, in spite of having a very tough lining
membrane. With guinea eggs there was quite another story. They have
shells extra thick and hard--hence were laid plentifully in hot ashes,
heaped over with live coals and left as long as our patience held out.
When Mammy pulled them out, it was maddening to see her test them. She
laid a short broom straw delicately on each egg. If it whirled round,
the egg was done--if contrariwise it fell off, it had to go back in the
embers. She had no thought of letting us eat eggs not cooked till the
yolk was mealy. To this day I am firmly of opinion she was wise--and
right. Eggs roasted as she roasted them have a flavor wholly beyond and
apart from those cooked in any other way.

_Baked