“As I live, a pair of watchet-coloured hose,” cried Xit.
“The very pair we are in quest of,” rejoined Og. “Unfold them, and you will find the piece of blanket in the seat.”
Xit obeyed, and mounting on the side of the box held out the huge garments, and there, undoubtedly in the region intimated by Og, was a piece of dirty flannel.
“And this, then, was my earliest covering,” apostrophised Xit. “In this fragment of woollen cloth my tender limbs were swathed!”
“Truly were they,” replied Og, laughing. “And when I first beheld thee it was ample covering. But what light does it throw upon thy origin?”
“That remains to be seen,” returned Xit. And unsheathing his dagger he began to unrip the piece of flannel from the garment in which it was stitched.
The two giants watched his proceedings in silence, and glanced significantly at each other. At length, Xit tore it away.
“It is a labour in vain,” observed Og.
“Not so,” replied Xit. “See you not that this corner is doubled over. There is a name worked within it.”
“The imp is right,” cried Og. “How came I to overlook it.” And he would have snatched the flannel from Xit, but the dwarf darted away, crying, “No one shall have a hand in the discovery but myself. Stand off!”