“Yes, I’m a strong boy,” said Phil in a slow voice.
“You wouldn’t like to come in and rest for a bit, little master? Maybe I could do what you want as well as my missus.”
“Maybe you could,” said Phil, his eyes brightening. “I never thought of that. No, I won’t come in, thank you, Nancy. Nancy, do you remember the day I was nearly lost in the bog?”
“Of course I do, my dear little man; and a sorry pickle you was when my missus brought you home!”
“Had I anything in my hand when I was brought into the house, Nancy? Please think hard. Had I anything rather important in my hand?”
“You had a bit of a brier clutched tight in one hand. I remember that, my dear.”
“Oh, but what I mean was something quite different—what I mean was a large silver drinking-mug. I cannot remember anything about it since I got lost in the bog, and I am afraid it must have gone right down into the bog. But I thought it just possible that I might have brought it here. You did not see it, did you, Nancy?”
“Well, my dear, is it likely? Whatever else we may be in this house, we ain’t thieves.”
Phil looked distressed.
“I did not mean that,” he said—“I did not mean that. I just thought I might have left it and that I would come and ask. Mother is in great trouble about the mug; it means a great lot to mother, and it was very careless of me to bring it into the forest. I am sorry you did not see it, Nancy.”