“My hasn’t got anyfing,” wailed Tod, behind his handkerchief.
“It’ll be in the hay if the cows don’t eat it,” said Maybee cheerily. “Where’d you lose your knife?”
“Over in the marsh; it sinked, you know.”
“How came you playing down there?”
“Wented myself.”
“Who said you might?”
“Nobody,” very faintly.
“Oh!” said Maybee significantly, “naughty boys always lose their knives or something; but never mind, let’s go an’ see Aunty McFane and little Peter.”
“Can’t,” said Tod dejectedly.
“Why not?”