“You’ve come back then?” she said, as I seated myself upon a box.
“Yes; and I’m as bad as Pomp now,” I replied.
“Oh, I don’t doubt that a bit, Master George. What new mischief has he been at now?”
“Getting himself taken by the Indians, and nearly killed.”
“And you have too?”
“Not taken, but nearly killed.”
“Well, it serves you both right,” she cried, with her lips working. “It was bad enough to come to this terrible place without you two boys going and running into all kinds of risks, and getting yourselves nearly killed. I don’t know what the captain has been about, I’m sure.”
“About here,” I said, good-humouredly.
“But tell me at once, sir. What do you mean about being as bad as that impudent black boy?”
“Oh, only that I’m dreffle hungry,” I said, laughing.