“It’s glorious good!” “Suppose now—look at this long snow-slope and then that blue deep beyond —do you see that round pool of color in the ice—a thousand feet or more below? Yes? Well, think—we’ve got to go but ten steps and lie down and put our arms about each other. If the Wastrel had not turned the instant he did, the ball would have missed him; as it was he turned directly into its path. A hansom stopped a little way off. None saw, though all felt, his presence, and heard the thunder of his voice. They are long gone. " "I will—I will," replied Wood hastily. " And he struck up the following ballad:— SAINT GILES'S BOWL. Wants me to look out for you a bit.
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