WINTER AS IT WAS
193
never done. So it seemed. And how bleak and comfortless the weather was while we were doing it! A cruel world, and no mistake. But half an hour afterward, on the hillside or the pond, the breeze was just balmy, and life—there was no time to think how good we found it. No doubt it is true, as the poet said,—
"There 's something in a flying horse,
There 's something in a huge balloon;"
but there's more, a thousand times over, in being a boy.
