We supplied our friends with ducks several days, and upon our
own dinner table duck was served ten successive days. And it was just
as acceptable the last day as the first, for almost every time there
was a different variety, the cinnamon, perhaps, being the most rare.
Last year Hang was very contrary about the packing down of the eggs
for winter use. I always put them in salt, but he thought they should
be put in oats because Mrs. Pierce had packed hers that way. You know
he had been Mrs. Pierce's cook two years before he came to me, and for
a time he made me weary telling how she had things done. Finally I
told him he must do as I said, that he was my cook now. There was
peace for a while, and then came the eggs.
He would not do one thing to assist me, not even take down the eggs,
and looked at Volmer with scorn when he carried down the boxes and
salt. I said nothing, knowing what the result would be later on if
Hang remained with me. When the cold weather came and no more fresh
eggs were brought in, it was astonishing to see how many things that
stubborn Chinaman could make without any eggs at all. Get them out of
the salt he simply would not. Of course that could not continue
forever, so one day I brought some up and left them on his table
without saying a word. He used them, and after that there was no
trouble, and one day in the spring he brought in to show me some
beautifully beaten eggs, and said, "Velly glood--allee same flesh.
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