Tales of the Malayan Coast _ From Penang t - Rounsevelle Wildman

That night we danced at Government House,—we exiles of the Temperate Zone,
—keeping up to the last the fiction that New Year’s Day under a tropic sky and
within sound of the tiger’s wail was really January first. But every remembrance
and association was, in our homesick thoughts, grouped about an open arch fire,
with the sharp, crisp creak of sleigh-runners outside, in a frozen land fourteen
thousand miles away.