“What Wood’s that, Master Reginald?”
“Betton Wood. Do you remember it?”
Mitchell slowly raised his hand and pointed an accusing forefinger. “It were your father done away with Betton Wood, Master Reginald, I can tell you that much.”
“Well, I know it was, Mitchell. You needn’t look at me as if it were my fault.”
“Your fault? No, I says it were your father done it, before your time.”
“Yes, and I dare say if the truth was known, it was your father that advised him to do it, and I want to know why.”
Mitchell seemed a little amused. “Well,” he said, “my father were woodman to your father and your grandfather before him, and if he didn’t know what belonged to his business, he’d oughter done. And if he did give advice that way, I suppose he might have had his reasons, mightn’t he now?”
“Of course he might, and I want you to tell me what they were.”
“Well now, Master Reginald, whatever makes you think as I know what his reasons might ’a been I don’t know how many year ago?”
“Well, to be sure, it is a long time, and you might easily have forgotten, if ever you knew. I suppose the only thing is for me to go and ask old Ellis what he can recollect about it.”