"I presume so," said Mr. George. "I suppose that, in the way of climbing, you and I can go as high as most people."
While Mr. George was saying this, Rollo was adjusting his opera glass to his eyes, in order to take a nearer view of the party among the ruins.
"There are four of them," said he. "I see a gentleman, and two ladies, and a little girl. They seem to be gathering something."
"Plants, perhaps," said Mr. George, "and flowers."
"Plants!" said Rollo, contemptuously; "I don't believe that any thing grows out of such old stones and mortar but weeds."
"We call such things weeds," said Mr. George, "when they grow in the gardens or fields, and are in the way; but when they grow in wild places where they belong, they are plants and flowers."
"The gentleman is gathering them from high places all around him," said Rollo, "and is giving them to the ladies, and they are putting them in between the leaves of a book."
"They are going to carry them away as souvenirs of the Coliseum, I suppose," said Mr. George.
"The girl has got a white stone in her hand," said Rollo.
"Perhaps it is a piece of marble that she has picked up," said Mr. George.