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After our midday dinner it was a potato-pie, mostly potato with some scraps of cabbage and bacon I put on my overcoat and got it out of the house while my mother was in the scullery at the back.
Alfred said nothing about the doctor's visit, but he could eat no dinner, and did not think this so much the fault of his sickly taste, as of his mother's potato-pie; he could not think why she should be so cross as to make that thing, when she knew he hated it; and as to poor Harold, Alfred would hardly let him speak or stir, without ordering Ellen down to tell him not to make such a row.
"I expect it was our Joseph," said the farmer. "Not it," retorted his wife. "Well, myself, I prefer women who aren't so peculiar," said the farmer. "Even if they're not so good," he added. "Take care," replied his wife. "That potato-pie isn't in the oven yet!"
For an extra charge of 1d. the inmates are provided with a good supper, consisting of a pint of soup and a large piece of bread, or of bread and jam and tea, or of potato-pie. A second penny supplies them with breakfast on the following morning, consisting of bread and porridge or of bread and fish, with tea or coffee.
He gave Tom the best baked side of the pie, and quietly took the side himself where the paste was little better than dough, and the potatoes quite hard; and when he caught Mary's little anxious face watching him, as he had to leave part of his dinner untasted, he said, "Mary, I should like this pie warmed up for supper; there is nothing so good as potato-pie made hot the second time."
Macey observed of himself, his faculties were as strong as ever. Silas sat down now and watched Eppie with a satisfied gaze as she spread the clean cloth, and set on it the potato-pie, warmed up slowly in a safe Sunday fashion, by being put into a dry pot over a slowly-dying fire, as the best substitute for an oven.
"They don't forget that potato-pie against our Miriam," laughed the father. She was utterly humiliated. The mother sat in silence, suffering, like some saint out of place at the brutal board. It puzzled Paul. He wondered vaguely why all this intense feeling went running because of a few burnt potatoes. The mother exalted everything even a bit of housework to the plane of a religious trust.
"She's not got a husband to fasten the middle buttons," said the farmer slyly. "She can't very well ask the pig, you know." "Well, no, she can't," said his wife, good-naturedly; "but she tries my patience pretty often." "That's not so hard as it sounds," said the farmer, looking innocently in front of him. "Now, then," said his wife, "who wanted a potato-pie for supper?"
Mary thought of the potato-pie and her brothers, and could almost have cried, as Jenny, heedless of her sister's entreaties, would linger at the picture-shops. "I shall be obliged to go and leave you, Jenny! I must get dinner ready." "I don't care," said Jenny. "I don't want any dinner, and I can come home quite well by myself." Mary half longed to give her a fright, it was so provoking.
A short ride of two hours brought us nearly to the head of the Wadi Khonab, and there, situated just under the cliff, in an open wilderness, is the celebrated tomb. It consists simply of a long uncovered pile of stones, somewhat resembling a potato-pie, with a headstone at either end, and a collection of fossils from the neighbouring mountains arranged along the top.
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