“Why not use the sea water itself?” asked Jack.
“Because,” said Ernest, “it is not only salt, but bitter too. Just try it.”
“Now,” said my wife, tasting the soup with the stick with which she had been stirring it, “dinner is ready, but where can Fritz be?” she continued, a little anxiously.
“How are we to eat our soup when he does come?” I asked; “we have neither plates nor spoons, and we can scarcely lift the boiling pot to our mouths. We are in as uncomfortable a position as was the fox to whom the stork served up a dinner in a jug with a long neck.”
“Oh, for a few cocoa-nut shells!” sighed Ernest.
“Oh, for half a dozen plates and as many silver spoons!” rejoined I, smiling.
“Really though, oyster-shells would do,” said he, after a moment's thought.
“True, that is an idea worth having! Off with you, my boys, get the oysters and clean out a few shells. What though our spoons have no handles, and we do burn our fingers a little in baling the soup out.”
Jack was away and up to his knees in the water in a moment detaching the oysters. Ernest followed more leisurely, and still unwilling to wet his feet, stood by the margin of the pool and gathered in his handkerchief the oysters his brother threw him; as he thus stood he picked up and pocketed a large mussel-shell for his own use. As they returned with a good supply we heard a shout from Fritz in the distance; we returned it joyfully, and he presently appeared before us, his hands behind his back, and a look of disappointment upon his countenance.
“Unsuccessful!” said he.
“Really!” I replied; “never mind, my boy, better luck next time.”
“Oh, Fritz!” exclaimed his brothers, who had looked behind
