"'Oh, days of me boyhood, I'm dreamin' of ye now!'" quoted Gerald. "I never thought that my mother's words would come true in my person:
"'Woffsky-poffsky, Woffsky-poffsky,
Once he was a Cossack hetman;
But he fell into the Dnieper,
And became a Cossack wetman.'
"And to speak sooth, sweet chuck, there may be a matter of half a bushel of snow—if you measure it by bushels,—it's a matter of fancy—down my manly back at this moment."
"Oh, Gerald! But do go home, my dear, and change your things! You will get your death of cold, if you go about in this state."
"I'll move into the adjoining territory at once!" said Gerald. "But calm yourself, angelic being! Consider that in this manner I avoid all danger of sunstroke! Every man his own refrigerator; patent applied for; no Irish need apply."
"What is the use of talking to people like this!" cried Hildegarde. "Jack, are you as wet as that? Because if you are,—"
"As wet as what?" said Jack. "I am not, anyhow, if you are going to look at me in that way. Just wet enough to cool me off delightfully; very sultry to-day, don't you think so?"
"Mr. Merryweather," cried Hildegarde. "Will you use your authority, please, and try to get some sense out of these boys? They are both wet through to the skin, and they will not—"
"Wet, are they?" said the Chief, cheerily. "Best thing in the world for 'em, my dear! Quicken the circulation, and keep the pores open. Now then, boys and girls, we must pack closer this time. Sit close, Kitty! Hilda, hold tight, my dear! All ready? Now, one, two, three, and off we go!"
And off they went.