We knew well enough he was looking for the long-lost.
And we jolly well wished he might find her.

Oswald, always full of sympathy with misfortune, however undeserved, had himself tried several times to find the lady.

So had the others.

But all this is what they call a digression; it has nothing to do with the dragon's teeth I am now narrating.
It began with the pig dying--it was the one we had for the circus, but it having behaved so badly that day had nothing to do with its illness and death, though the girls said they felt remorse, and perhaps if we hadn't made it run so that day it might have been spared to us.

But Oswald cannot pretend that people were right just because they happen to be dead, and as long as that pig was alive we all knew well enough that it was it that made us run--and not us it.
The pig was buried in the kitchen garden.