“I say, look here, Master George, I’m ’bout heart-broke over that garden. I want to see what it’s like. We all might go for a day and torment some of them weeds, and keep things from getting worse, and see what mischief the Indians did.”
“Yes; I should like to go and see that,” I said, thoughtfully.
“Should you, my lad? Then let’s go.”
I shook my head, for I saw a lot of difficulties in the way.
“Nay, nay; now don’t do that, lad. I teclare to coot—”
“Morgan!” I shouted.
“Well, look you, dear boy—”
“Morgan!”
“Oh, dear me, how is a man to speak! I was going to say, I did ask some of them who went scouting, and they’d got it all pat enough about how the house was a heap of ashes, but I don’t believe one of ’em so much as looked at the garden, and I know there’s things ready in those beds as would be a blessing to us now.”
“A heap of ashes!” I said, sadly.