“Yes.”
“And filled it with milk and sherry?”
“Yes, but you don’t deserve it, for threatening to get poor Mark the sack.”
“Then you shouldn’t threaten to tell tales.”
“I won’t, Master Syd, if you won’t.”
“All right, then, it’s a truce. Here, I must be off.”
“What, without your sangwidges and flask?”
“No; to get my fishing-rod.”
“Then you won’t tell?”
“Tell? No. Here, give us a kiss, Jenny.”