They then talked about the statues, concerning which it was plain that
nothing was known. But my father soon broke in upon their conversation
with the first instalment of quails, which a few minutes had sufficed to
cook.

"What a delicious bird a quail is," said Hanky.

"Landrail, Hanky, landrail," said the other reproachfully.

Having finished the first birds in a very few minutes they returned to
the statues.

"Old Mrs. Nosnibor," said Panky, "says the Sunchild told her they were
symbolic of ten tribes who had incurred the displeasure of the sun, his
father."

I make no comment on my father's feelings.

"Of the sun! his fiddlesticks' ends," retorted Hanky. "He never called
the sun his father. Besides, from all I have heard about him, I take it
he was a precious idiot."

"O Hanky, Hanky! you will wreck the whole thing if you ever allow
yourself to talk in that way."

"You are more likely to wreck it yourself, Panky, by never doing so.
People like being deceived, but they like also to have an inkling of
their own deception, and you never inkle them."