"Mr. ” Lucy’s eyebrows knitted, trying to remember an unfortunate chinless girl running around the school. Trodger laid down their muskets and turned on them. She wondered even at this late day how she had been able to hold her maddening curiosity in check. While this took place, while Quilt thundered at the inner door, and Jack drew back the bolts of the outer, a deep, manly voice was heard chanting—as if in contempt of the general uproar—the following strain:— With pipe and punch upon the board, And smiling nymphs around us; No tavern could more mirth afford Than old Saint Giles's round-house! The round-house! the round-house! The jolly—jolly round-house! "The jolly, jolly round-house!" chorussed Sheppard, as the last bar yielded to his efforts. ’ But she reckoned without the fellow Trodger. But how long would she last, withering away to a desiccated pile of skin and bone? Round and round she would go. I shan't drive a hard bargain. “Is that you, Nigel?” she asked.
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