CHAPTER EIGHT.
A RANDOM SHOT.
"How about the cold pudding ?" "Look here, Ladle, if you say any more about that it means a fight." "Ha, ha! Poor old Cinder riding the nightmare, and dreaming about the Scraw! Wish I'd been sleeping at the cottage that night.

I'd have woke you up: I'd have given you cold pig!" "Lucky for you that you weren't," said Vince.

"I'd have given you something, my lad.

But, I say, Ladle, drop it.

I wouldn't have told you about that if I'd known you were always going to fire it off at me." "Well it does seem so comic for a fellow to go stuffing himself with cold pudding, and then begin dreaming he was hanging at the end of our rope." "Look here," said Vince sharply, "if you'd felt what I did that day, though I didn't say much, I'll be bound to say you'd have dreamed of it after." "I felt bad enough," said Mike, suddenly growing serious, as they walked together over the heathery land, unwittingly taking the direction of the scene of their adventure; "and I don't mind telling you, Cinder, that I've woke up four nights since with a start, fancying I was trying to hold the rope, and it kept slipping through my fingers.