“Oh! nothin’ much, mother.”
“Nothin’ much! Then why be ye looking so black?”
“What makes you think I’m lookin’ that way?”
“How can I help thinkin’ it? Why, lad; your brow be clouded, same’s the sky outside. Come, now tell the truth! Bean’t there somethin’ amiss?”
“Well, mother; since you axe me that way I will tell the truth. Somethin’ be amiss; or I ought better say, missin’.”
“Missin’! Be’t anybody ha’ stoled the things out o’ the boat? The balin’ pan, or that bit o’ cushion in the stern?”
“No it ain’t; no trifle o’ that kind, nor anythin’ stealed eyther. ’Stead a thing as ha’ been destroyed.”
“What thing?”
“The flower—the plant.”
“Flower! plant!”