Ye are as
stiff as a frozen poker."
"And no wonder," came a voice from below; "'tis not a day fit for man
or dog to be out a minute longer than necessary. Bring the bairn in,
Charley." The invitation came from a kindly and portly dame, the
hostess, who had come to the door to welcome such passengers as might
be disposed to put up for the night at the inn.
"I don't think I can stir," the boy replied; "I'm about frozen."
He spoke in low tones and as if but half awake. He was, in fact, just
dropping into a doze.
"Here, mates, catch hold," the guard cried, and without more ado the
lad was lowered down to the little group of loafers who had come to
see the sight and to pick up any stray penny that might be available.
A minute later George Fairburn was rapidly thawing before the rousing
fire in the inn's best parlour, and was gulping down the cup of hot
mulled ale the good-natured landlady had put into his trembling hands.
"I'm all right, ma'am, now, and I'll go. Thank you and good night,
ma'am."
"Go, Fairburn?" cried another boy of about his own age, who sat
comfortably in the arm-chair by the cosy chimney corner. "Surely you
are not going to turn out again this bitter night?"
"Indeed I am," was the somewhat ungracious reply; "my father is not a
rich man, and I'm not going to put him to needless expense.
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