"I wish to push on," said Urith.
"How can you without my cob?" asked Anthony roughly. "I have said—she baits here. You, also—you must be perishing for food. We all are; have been mum all the way home—no fun, no talking. So, come in."
"That is right—urge her, young man, to follow the advice of age and experience," shouted Mr. Gibbs.
Then he began to sing:
Come my lads, let us be jolly,
Drive away dull melancholy,
For to grieve it is a folly
When we're met together.
So, my friends, let us agree,
Always keep good company,