“What was in the room?” asked Nancy.
“Nothing,” said David, “except Miss Barnicroft, and two boxes and a table, and the dogs.”
“Oh, David!” broke in Ambrose in a tone of remonstrance; “there was a great cauldron smoking over the fire, a regular witch’s cauldron!”
“I don’t know what a cauldron is,” said David; “but there was a black kettle, if you mean that.”
“And only think, Pennie,” continued Ambrose; “she offered us something, she called ambrosia. I daresay it was made of toadstools and poisonous herbs picked at night.”
“She said it was honey and goat’s milk,” finished David; “but we didn’t taste it.”
As long as there remained anything to tell about Miss Barnicroft, Ambrose was quite excited and cheerful; but soon after the adventure had been fully described, he became very quiet, and presently gave a heavy sigh; on being asked by Pennie what was the matter, he confided to her that he never could be happy again, because father had said he was not fit to be trusted.
“It doesn’t matter so much about David,” he added mournfully; “but you see I’m so much older. Do you think there’s anything I could do? anything very dangerous and difficult?”
“Like Casabianca,” said Pennie, thinking of a poem she was fond of reciting:
“The boy stood on the burning deck,
Whence all but he had fled.”