"G'wan!" says I. "Go take a sleep."
With that I steps in and shows myself to the kids. They yells and makes a dash for me. Inside of two minutes I've been introduced to Grandfather and Aunt Sabina, made to do a duck before both jars, and am planted on the haircloth sofa with a kid holdin' either arm, while they puts me through the third degree. They want information.
"Did you ever see folks burned and put in jars?" says Jack.
"No," says I; "but I've seen pickled ones jugged. I hear you've got some ponies."
"Two," says Jill; "spotted ones. Would you want to be burned after you was a deader?"
"Better after than before," says I. "Where's the ponies now?"
"What do the ashes look like?" says Jack.
"Are there any clinkers?" says Jill.
Say, I was down and out in the first round. For every word I could get in about ponies they got in ten about them bloomin' jars, and when I leaves 'em they was organisin' a circus, with Grandfather and Aunt Sabina supposed to be occupyin' the reserved seats. Honest, it was enough to chill the spine of a morgue keeper. By good luck I runs across Snivens snoopin' through the hall.
"See here, you!" says I. "I want to talk to you."