"Go to the pump, Nab," he said, when this was done, "and fill a pail with water. “I was surprised, I admit,” he said. And I’ve read, and thought, and guessed, and looked—until MY innocence—it’s smirched. “I might go home, I don’t know. Presently he began to weave a tale, sorry enough, with all the ancient claptraps and rusted platitudes. “You really couldn’t ride in it,” he said, deprecatingly. It was an excuse, dredged up on the spur of the moment to cover a slip.
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