” He panted. " "And so Sir Rowland murdered his friend," remarked Wood. “Why can’t we propagate by sexless spores, as the ferns do? We restrict each other, we badger each other, friendship is poisoned and buried under it!. So far as I am concerned, I am just now a hopeless nonentity. With his chisel so fine, tra la! "There!" cried the boy, leaping from the stool, and drawing back a few paces on the bench to examine his performance,—"that'll do. But I see now. ‘Why?’ Melusine eyed him dubiously.
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