tood the caress, if not the words, for he reached up to touch
her cheek with his tongue, and wagged his tail as if he were welcoming a
long-lost friend. Just then Mrs. Sherman stepped out of the elevator.
"Good-bye, Hero," said the Little Colonel. "I must go now, but I hope
I'll see you when I come back." Nodding good-bye to the Major, she
followed her mother out to the street, where her father stood waiting
beside an open carriage.

Lloyd enjoyed the drive that morning as they spun along beside the
river, up and down the strange streets with the queer foreign signs over
the shop doors. Once, as they drove along the quay, they met the Major
and the dog, and in response to a courtly bow, the Little Colonel waved
her hand and smiled. The empty sleeve recalled her grandfather, and gave
her a friendly feeling for the old soldier. She looked back at Hero as
long as she could see a glimpse of his white and yellow curls.

It was nearly noon when they stopped at a place where Mrs. Sherman
wanted to leave an enamelled belt-buckle to be repaired. Lloyd was not
interested in the show-cases, and could not understand the conversation
her father and mother were having with the shopkeeper about enamelling.
So, saying that she would go out and sit in the carriage until they were
ready to come, she slipped away.

She liked to watch the stir of the streets. It was interesting to guess
what the foreign signs meant, and to listen to the strange speech around
her. Besides, there was a band playing somewhere down the street, and
children were tugging at their nurses' hands to hurry them along. Some
carried dolls dressed in the quaint costumes of Swiss peasants, and some
had balloons. A man with a bunch of them like a cluster of great red
bubbles had just sold out on the corner.

So she sat in the sunshine, looking around her with eager, interested
eyes. The coachman, high up on his box, seemed as interested as
herself; at least, he sat up very straight and stiff. But it was only
his back that Lloyd saw. He had been at a fete the night before. There
seems to be always a holiday in Geneva. He had stayed long at the
merrymaking and had taken many mugs of beer. They made him drowsy and
stupid. The American gentleman and his wife stayed long in the
enameller's shop. He could scarcely keep his eyes open. Presently,
although he never moved a muscle of his back and sat up stiff and
straight as a poker, he was sound asleep, and the reins in his gr