'Well, Willie, my dear, you're more to me than the old sword. But I
wouldn't have had it handled with disrespect for all that the place is
worth. However, I don't suppose they can--. What made them do it,
child? They've not taken it down from the wall?'

'Yes, grannie. I think it was because I was staring at it too much,
grannie. Perhaps they were afraid I would take it down and hurt myself
with it. But I was only going to ask you about it. Tell me a story
about it, grannie.'

All my notion was some story, I did not think whether true or false,
like one of Nannie's stories.

'That I will, my child--all about it--all about it. Let me see.'

Her eyes went wandering a little, and she looked perplexed.

'And they took it from you, did they? Poor child! Poor child!'

'They didn't take it from me, grannie. I never had it in my hands.'

'Wouldn't give it you then? Oh dear! Oh dear!'

I began to feel uncomfortable--grannie looked so strange and lost. The
old feeling that she ought to be buried because she was dead returned
upon me; but I overcame it so far as to be able to say:

'Won't you tell me about it then, grannie? I want so much to hear about
the battle.'