"Too bad for that old beast to keep us locked out from the very place us ought to have for pommylarding, because he saith all the fruit would go into our pockets.

And what goes into his'en, I should like to know?
Suppose I lock him out, as he hath locked us out.

He won't be back yet for half an hour, anyway.

Wish I could write--what a list I would make, if it was only of the things he denieth he hath got!" Strong in her own honesty and loyalty to her master, the cook turned the key in the lock, and left Swipes to ring himself into his own garden, as he always called it.

That is to say, if he should return, which was not very likely, before she had time for a good look round.