The problem had returned, made gigantic by the possibility of Ruth's love. While this took place, while Quilt thundered at the inner door, and Jack drew back the bolts of the outer, a deep, manly voice was heard chanting—as if in contempt of the general uproar—the following strain:— With pipe and punch upon the board, And smiling nymphs around us; No tavern could more mirth afford Than old Saint Giles's round-house! The round-house! the round-house! The jolly—jolly round-house! "The jolly, jolly round-house!" chorussed Sheppard, as the last bar yielded to his efforts. A very familiar face emerged from a crowd at the impromptu bar on the kitchen island. Her back had stiffened, and her hazel eyes looked steadfastly ahead. "You shall not pass," cried several of the crowd. I never realized how fabulous all those homemade dishes were.
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