It was more than I could stand.

I hadn't tasted fresh meat since Uncle Peabody had killed a deer in midsummer.

He gave me a look of understanding, but said nothing for a minute.

Then he proposed: "Mebbe we better git dinner here ?" Aunt Deel hesitated at the edge of the stable yard, surrounded as she was by the aroma of the fleshpots, then: "I guess we better go right home and save our money, Peabody--ayes!" said she.

"We told Mr.and Mrs.Horace Dunkelberg that we was goin' home and they'd think we was liars." "We orto have gone with `em," said Uncle Peabody as he unhitched the horses.
"Well, Peabody Baynes, they didn't appear to be very anxious to have us," Aunt Deel answered with a sigh.
We had started away up the South road when, to my surprise, Aunt Deel mildly attacked the Dunkelbergs.
"These here village folks like to be waited on--ayes!--an' they're awful anxious you should come to see 'em when ye can't--ayes!--but when ye git to the village they ain't nigh so anxious--no they ain't!" Uncle Peabody made no answer, but sat looking forward thoughtfully and tapping the dashboard with his whipstock, and we rode on in a silence broken only by the creak of the evener and the sound of the horses' hoofs in the sand.
In the middle of the great cedar swamp near Little River Aunt Deel got out the lunch basket and I sat down on the buggy bottom between their legs and leaning against the dash.