"Smallbones!" said Vanslyperken, still wandering. "Smallbones is drowned--and the whole pot of black paint."
"Conscience," said Short.
"Carving-knife," rejoined Coble.
"Carving-knife!" said Vanslyperken, raising himself up; "I never said a word about a carving-knife, did I? Who is it that I see? Short--and Coble--help me up. I've had a sad fall. Where's Smallbones? Is he alive--really alive?"
"I believe as how I bees," replied Smallbones.
Mr Vanslyperken had now recovered his perfect senses. He had been raised on a chair, and was anxious to be rid of intruders, so he told Short and Coble that he would now do very well, and they might go; upon which, without saying a word, they both quitted the cabin.
Mr Vanslyperken collected himself--he wished to know how Smallbones had been saved, but still dared not broach the subject, as it would be admitting his own guilt.
"What has happened, Smallbones?" said Vanslyperken. "I still feel very faint."
"Take a glass of this," replied Smallbones, opening the cupboard, and bringing out the scheedam. He poured out a glass, which Vanslyperken drank, and then observed, "How did you know what was in that cupboard sirrah?"
"Because you called for it when you were in your fits," replied Smallbones.