e disaster as far as she
could; cutting the ham into slices and frying it, making a fricassee of
the fowls, and fishing the raisins out of the pot, exclaiming bitterly
all the while, in English and Spanish, against the _tunanta_ (equivalent
to female scoundrel or scamp) who had spoilt the only nice dinner her
_pobrecito_, her _nino_, her _querido_ (meaning my grandfather), had
been likely to enjoy for a long time, stopping occasionally in her
occupations to give him a consolatory kiss. However, my grandfather did
not keep up the character of a martyr at all well: he took the matter
really very patiently; and when the excellent Carlota had set the dinner
on the table, and he tasted the fine flavour of the maltreated ham, he
speedily regained his accustomed good-humour.

"It is very strange," he said presently, while searching with a fork in
the dish before him, "that a pair of fowls should have only three wings,
two legs, and one breast between them."

It certainly was not according to the order of nature; nevertheless the
fact was so, all my grandfather's researches in the dish failing to
bring to light the missing members. This, however, was subsequently
explained by the discovery of the remains of these portions of the birds
in the scullery, where they appeared to have been eaten after being
grilled; and Mrs Bags' reason for adopting this mode of cooking them was
also rendered apparent--viz. that she might secure a share for herself
without immediate detection.

However, all this did not prevent them from making the best of what was
left, and the Major's face beamed as he drank Carlota's health in a
glass of the remaining bottle of champagne, as brightly as if the dinner
had been completely successful.

"It is partly my fault, Owen," said the Major, "that you haven't a joint
of mutton instead of this sheep's head. I ought to have been sharper.
The animal was actually sold in parts before he was killed. Old
Clutterbuck had secured a haunch, and he a single man, you know--'tis
thrown away upon him. I offered him something handsome for his bargain,
but he wouldn't part with it."

"We're lucky to get any," returned Owen. "Never was such a scramble. Old
Fiskin, the commissary, and Mrs O'Regan, the Major's wife, both swore
the left leg was knocked down to them; neither would give in, and it was
put up again, when the staff doctor, Pursum, who had just arrived in a
great hurry, carried it off by bidding eightpence more