He muttered in rapture, "Mussels! Mussels! Isn't that a crab, Ho-ho? Isn't that a crab? Hooray! You boys are doing your old grandfather a favor."
Ho-ho, who looked to be about Edwin's age, smiled broadly.
"You have whatever you want, Grandfather. I've brought four."
The old man's trembling eagerness was pitiful. He sat down on the sand as fast as his stiff limbs would allow and pulled a large mussel from the embers. The heat had cracked its shell, and its salmon-colored flesh was perfectly cooked. Between his thumb and forefinger, he seized the morsel in trembling haste and brought it to his mouth, but it was too hot; he spat it out the next moment. The old man grunted in pain, and tears streamed from his eyes down his cheeks.
The two boys were truly savages, possessed only by the cruel humor of savages. To them, the incident was utterly hilarious, and they burst into fits of laughter and guffaws. Ho-ho danced up and down, Edwin rolled joyfully on the ground, and the third boy, the goat-herder, came running in to join in the fun.
"Put it out to cool, Edwin," the old man pleaded, not even trying to wipe away the tears that were still streaming from his eyes. "Put it out to cool, Edwin, put it out to cool. Put a crab out to cool, too. You know your grandfather loves crabs."
A great crackle rose from the embers as the mussels burst open and their liquids escaped. They were large shells, about three to six inches long, and the boys gathered them with sticks and laid them on a large piece of wood to cool.