The shouts drew nearer, and lights were seen flashing ruddily against the sides and gables of the neighbouring houses. “Could you play ‘Fiddler on the Roof’?” father Thomas pleaded. Passing the old rectory, and still older church, with its reverend screen of trees, and slowly ascending a hill side, from whence he obtained enchanting peeps of the spire and college of Harrow, he reached the cluster of well-built houses which constitute the village of Neasdon. CHAPTER XII. “Never mind, old chap,” he declared.
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