Jo trollesund, t of Lapland. tce in to t least trality, it o rescue tive children.

    o Lyra and Farder Coram t day,  te streams of foam as t on t and movement, s little sickness at all; and no Pantalaimon s of being a seagull and tormy petrel and skimming tops, Lyra oo absorbed by o wallow in landlubberly misery.

    Jo in tern of talking about o do next.

    “Noc mistaken, tion there.”

    “ts rig y years back, but ts noto a co many times t.”

    “ o bring tion about, Farder Coram?” said Adam Stefanski, ting troop.

    “I saved a c of t red bird like to not out to find o dro  t bird do fell into a bog, to my regret, for it tern, and flame-red.”

    “Aured by Farder Corams story.

    “Now, w ,”  on, “I  grim s young woman had no daemon.”

    It . tled or salaimon crept into Lyras arms, ts beating together.

    “At least,” Farder Coram said, “ts  seemed. Being as s of ted scly like a young tier t, but not seeing t daemon gave me a urn.”

    “Ent t daemons tcher man, Michael Canzona.

    “t,” said Adam Stefanski. “ime, and Farder Coram never saw him.”

    “No, youre  all. tco separate ty sig c been resting above an  s my belief, tted to t t red bird I s c. Lord! t made me s of t. Id ayed my aken any measures on sea or land; but t was.

    Any Id saved oken of it, and said I o call on  ions, too....I  seen  day to t shell remember.”

    “And does s trollesund, tch?”

    “No, no. ts and on tundra, not in a seaport among men an