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The neist word that Sir Patrick read,
 * The tear blinded his e'e."

These conflicting emotions successfully simulated, Sir Patrick resumed:— O wha is he has dune this deed,
 * And tauld the King o' me,—

To send us out, at this time o' the year,
 * To sail upon the sea?'"

Then the king stood up in the unstable tower and shouted his own orders:— Be it wind, be it weet, be it hail, be it sleet,
 * Our ship maun sail the faem;

The King's daughter o' Noroway,
 * 'Tis we maun fetch her hame.'"

"Can't we rig the ship a little better?" demanded our stage manager at this juncture. "It isn't half as good as the tower."

Ten minutes' hard work, in which we assisted, produced something a trifle more nautical and seaworthy than the first ship. The ground with a few boards spread upon it was the deck. Tarpaulin sheets were arranged on sticks to represent sails, and we located the vessel so cleverly that two slender trees shot out of the middle of it and served as the tall topmasts.

"Now let us make believe that we've hoisted our sails on 'Mononday morn' and been in Noroway 'weeks but only twae,'" said our leading man; "and your time has come now," turning to us.