"It does!" said I, wondering at his manner.
"And 'oo might you be—and what?" he questioned, beckoning me nearer with a motion of the kettle.
"One who has lost his way—"
"In silver buttons an' a jerry 'at—hum! You're a young nob, you are, a swell, a tippy, a go—that's what you are! Wherefore and therefore I ask what you might be a-doing in this here wood at midnight's lone hour?"
"I am lost—"
"Aha!" said he, eyeing me dubiously and scratching his long, blue chin with the spout of his kettle. "A young gent in a jerry 'at—lost an' wandering far from a luxurious 'ome in a wood at midnight! And wherefore? It ain't murder, is it? You aren't been doing to death any pore, con-fiding young fe-male, have ye?"
"Good God—no!" I answered in indignant horror.
"Why then, you don't 'appen to ha' been robbing your rich uncle and now on your way to London wi' the family jew-ells to make your fortun', having set fire to the fam-ly mansion to cover the traces o' your dark an' desp'ret doin's?"
"Certainly not!"
"Ha!" said he, with rueful shake of his head, "I knew it—from the first. I suppose you'll tell me you ain't even forged your 'oary-'eaded grandfather's name for to pay off your gambling debts and other gentlemanly dissipations—come now?"