At this moment the son checked his advance and, stooping, raised aloft the same earthenware vessel of which repeated mention has heretofore been made.
"Here she is, all right, dad!" was his cryptic statement. "I guess we never made no mistake in comin' here."
The father then addressed me.
"Mister," he said, "mout I enquire where you got that there crock?"
"That, my good sir," I informed him, "is not a crock. It is a Mound Builder's relic, unearthed but yesterday in the forest primeval."
"In the forest which?"
"The forest primeval," I enunciated with all the distinctness of which I was capable.
"And whut, if anythin', have you been doin' with it beside anointin' them features of yourn in it?" Again it was the father who spoke.
"It formerly contained wild strawberries," I answered, "some of which were consumed for food, and the rest of which were carried away under cover of nightfall by a bear."
He stared at me.