“It’s glorious good!” “Suppose now—look at this long snow-slope and then that blue deep beyond —do you see that round pool of color in the ice—a thousand feet or more below? Yes? Well, think—we’ve got to go but ten steps and lie down and put our arms about each other. He was only a younger son, and you know what trouble we had. Gerald’s task was to stop him from doing so. The next page was a drawing that she had made in pen and ink of his face, or what she had remembered of it. He would be so disappointed. He uttered one word over and over, monotonously: "Fool! … Fool!" But invariably the touch of Ruth's hand quieted him, and his head would cease to roll from side to side. .
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