Take it," he cried, lifting the babe from the bottom of the boat, and flinging it towards its unfortunate father. A few yards further off something grey, inert, was lying, a huddled-up heap of humanity twisted into a strange unnatural shape. "Harkye, Sir," rejoined Darrell; "one word before I move. Pure luck! If the boy had grown a moustache or a beard, a needle in the haystack would have been soft work. But she had not reckoned with the etiquette of Canongate. To settle things, you know. "Agreed," responded the Master.
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