THE WORLD OF ICE. 93

seating himself on a hummock, and _ still panting
hard.

“ Ay, boy, that’s jist what it is. The only objiction
I have agin it is, that it makes ye a’most kick the
left lee clane off yer body.”

“Why don’t you kick with your right leg, then,
stupid, like other people?” inquired Summers.

“Why don’t Lis it? Troth, then, I don’t know
for sartin. Me father lost his left leg at the great
battle o the Nile, and [ve sometimes thought that
had somethin’ to do wid it. But then me mother was
lame o’ the right leg intirely, and wint about wid a
erutch, so I can’t make out how it was, d’ye see?”

“Look out, Pat,” exclaimed Summers, starting up,
“here comes the ball.”

As he spoke, the football came skimming over the
ice towards the spot on which they stood, with about
thirty of the men running at full speed and shouting
like maniacs after it.

“That's your sort, my heartics! another like that
and it’s home! Pitch into it, Mivins. You're the
boy for me! Now then, Grim, trip him up! Hallo!
Buzzby, you bluff-bowed Dutchman, luff! luff! or Pl
stave in your ribs! Mind your eye, Mizzle! there’s
Green, he'll be into your larboard quarter in no time.
Hurrah! Mivins, up in the air with it. Kick, boy,
kick like a spanker-boom in a hurricane !”

Such were a few of the expressions that showered
like hail round the men as they rushed hither and
thither after the ball. And here we may remark that