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The stone pitcher on the table appeared to be sweating in the heat. But no - it was full of cold milk, apparently just brought from the springhouse. 'Perfect!' Pio murmured to herself. She swiftly poured a glass and sauntered through the hallway to the parlor, prepared to pull the innocent-abandoned-visitor stunt when she was discovered.
Through the open window she saw and heard two young boys scamper through the front door, glancing behind them as if they expected pursuit. Ah, the dog-abusers have returned home! Pio thought. Their giggles faded back deeper into the house.
Suddenly the comparative peace of the afternoon was rent in no uncertain manner. 'BOYS! Come here right now! Who's been in the muffins?'
Jumping guiltily, Pio flushed and crept to the door of the kitchen. Lined up in a row were the two - oh, and now three - boys, all with bewildered expressions. 'Mama, we didn't even know you made them!' the tallest protested with an air of injured innocence.
The matronly hobbit woman who stood over them raised a skeptical eyebrow. 'Muffins don't walk away, Frodo. Now who ate it?'
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I admit it is better fun to punt than be punted, and that a desire to have all the fun is nine-tenths of the law of chivalry.
Lord Peter Wimsey
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