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THE CRASHAW BROTHERS

some of the boys protested. He took them bare-legged across fields when the snow was ankle-deep; he spurred them up icy slopes; on thawy days he splashed them along muddy roads until they were all a sorry-looking sight.

They complained that they were n’t out for cross-country runs, that he was giving them chilblains, and that they did n’t see what this sort of treatment had to do with rowing anyway.

“Toughens you up,” said Edward, with a cheerful grin. “Come on; you’re getting husky.”

He was having a pretty good time out of it; yet there were moments when he could not help envying other boys. When in the late afternoon, on the run home to the gymnasium, he passed the pond where the hockey players were flying about on the ice, with the ringing rush of the skates and the clashing scrimmage of the sticks, what he was doing seemed stupid and plodding by comparison.

He had an eye for the picturesqueness and the grace of the skaters; he liked to see a line