pression of intense satisfaction came over his face.

"I can put away my lantern," he said to himself,--"I have found him."

"May I have the boldness to ask your name, sir?" he asked aloud.

"Ze Baron Rudolph von Blitzenberg," that nobleman replied. "Yours,
sare--may I dare?"

"Francis Bunker, at your service, Baron."

"You are noble?" queried the Baron a little anxiously, for his prejudices
on this point were strong.

"According to your standard I believe I may say so. That's to say, my
family have borne arms for two hundred odd generations; twenty-five per
cent of them have died of good living; and the most malicious have never
accused us of brains. I myself may not be very typical, but I assure you
it isn't my ancestors' fault."

The latter part of this explanation entirely puzzled the Baron. The first
statement, though eminently satisfactory, was also a little bewildering.

"Two hondred generations?" he asked, courteously. "Zat is a vary old
family. All bore arms you say, Mistair Bonker?"

"All," replied Mr Bunker, gravely. "The first few bore tails as well."

"Ha, ha, ha!" laughed the Baron. "You are a fonny man I pairceive, vat you
call clown, yes?"

"What my friends call clown, and I call wit," Mr Bunker corrected.

"Vit! Ha, ha, ha!" roared the Baron, whose mind was now in an El Dorado of
humour when jokes grew like daisies. His loneliness had disappeared as if
by magic; as course succeeded course his contentment showed itself in a
perpetually beaming smile: he ceased to worry even about his friend's
pedigree, convinced in his mind that manners so delightful and
distinguished could only result from repeated quarterings and unoccupied
forefathers. Yet by the time dessert arrived and he had again returned to
his port, he began to feel an extreme curiosity to know more concerning Mr
Bunker. He himself had volunteered a large quantity of miscellaneous
information: about Bavaria, its customs and its people, more especially
the habits and history of the Blitzenberg family; about himself, his
parentage and education; all about his family ghost, his official position
as hereditary carpet-beater to the Bavarian Court, and many other things
equally entertaining and instructive. Mr Bunker, for his part, had so far
confined his confidences to his name.

"My dear Bonker," said the Baron at last--he had become quite familiar by
this time--"vat make you in London? I fear you are bird of passage. Do you
stay long?