“Yohi,” said the black, nodding. “Big white Mary pialla. Shanter carry tub.”
“Then you have been in the storehouse sometimes.”
“Yohi. Baal teal flour.”
He wrenched himself free and walked away.
“I don’t believe he took it, aunt,” said Norman.
“Nor I,” said the others eagerly.
“Well, I wish I was sure, my dears, as you are, for I don’t like to suspect the poor fellow.”
“But if he had taken it, aunt,” cried Rifle, “he is such a big stupid boy of a fellow he couldn’t have kept it secret. He’d have made a lot of damper at a fire in the scrub, and asked us to come and help to eat the nasty stuff all full of ashes.”
“Well,” said Aunt Georgie, drawing her lips tight, “we shall see. Nobody else could have stolen it but the black or German.”
“What, old Sourkrout?” cried Tim, laughing. “Oh, aunt!”