‘Oh, grannie, don’t!’ I cried in terror, as she rose from her chair. ‘They’ll not let me ever come near you again, if you do.’
She sat down again. After seeming to ponder for a while in silence, she said:—
‘Well, Willie, my dear, you’re more to me than the old sword. But I wouldn’t have had it handled with disrespect for all that the place is worth. However, I don’t suppose they can—. What made them do it, child? They’ve not taken it down from the wall?’
‘Yes, grannie. I think it was because I was staring at it too much, grannie. Perhaps they were afraid I would take it down and hurt myself with it. But I was only going to ask you about it. Tell me a story about it, grannie.’
All my notion was some story, I did not think whether true or false, like one of Nannie’s stories.
‘That I will, my child—all about it—all about it. Let me see.’
Her eyes went wandering a little, and she looked perplexed.
‘And they took it from you, did they? Poor child! Poor child!’
‘They didn’t take it from me, grannie. I never had it in my hands.’
‘Wouldn’t give it you then? Oh dear! Oh dear!’