There might have been a greater
showing of plate, though that was not lacking, but there could have been
no whiter linen nor more appetizing dishes than those which good Frau
Kate gave us that evening.
After the frozen wine had disappeared, a serving-maid brought in a
stoneware pan covered with a snowy pastry, made from the whites of eggs
and clear sugar. At its entry Yolanda clapped her hands and cried out
with childish delight. When the pan was placed before Castleman, she
exclaimed:--
"Be careful, uncle! Don't thrust the knife too deep, or you will kill
the birds."
Uncle Castleman ran the point of the knife around the outer edge of the
crust, and, with a twist of the blade, quickly lifted it from the pan,
when out flew a dozen or more wrens. Yolanda's delight knew no bounds.
She sprang from her chair, exclaiming:--
"Catch them! Catch them!" and led the way.
She climbed on chairs, tables, and window shelves, and soon had her
hands full of the demure little songsters. Max, too, was pursuing the
wrens, and Twonette, losing part of her serenity, actually caught a
bird. The sport was infectious, and soon fat old Castleman was puffing
like a tired porpoise, and sedate old Karl de Pitti was in the chase.
Frau Katherine grabbed desperately at a bird now and then, but she was
too stout to catch one and soon took her chair, laughing and out of
breath. Yolanda screamed with laughter, and after she had caught six or
seven birds and put them in the cage provided for them, she asked Max to
lift her in his arms that she might reach one resting on a beam near the
ceiling.
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