CHAPTER XXVII
THE QUEEN’S PLAISANCE

T was a frosty morning when they all marched down
to the boats that bumped along Paul’s wharf.

The roofs of London were white with frost and rosy
with the dawn. In the shadow of the walls the air lay in
still pools of smoky blue; and in the east the horizon
stretched like a swamp of fire. The winking lights on
London Bridge were pale. The bridge itself stood cold
and gray, mysterious and dim as the stream below, but
here and there along its crest red-hot with a touch of flame
from the burning eastern sky. Out of the river, running
inland with the tide, came steamy shreds that drifted here
and there. Then over the roofs of London town the sun
sprang up like a thing of life, and the veil of twilight van-
ished in bright day with a million sparkles rippling on the
stream.

Warm with piping roast and cordial, keen with excite-
ment, and blithe with the sharp, fresh air, the red-cheeked
lads skipped and chattered along the landing like a flock
of sparrows alighted by chance in a land of crumbs.

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