court so gray and his Ghenter’s gatmts and his hobbsy socks and his bleday steppe- brodhar’s into the shipfolds of our micknick party. No honaryhuest on our side every time. Let us go back. — Lest he forewaken. — Hide ourselves. While hovering dreamwings, folding around, will hide a leabhar from Thursmen’s brandthands or a slug of Jon Jacobsen from his megageg chin (sowman’s son), the wrong palce® as if in florileague, drawens up consociately