here _are_ fairy-tales without a prince," said Michael
apologetically.

"Well, once upon a time," said his mother, "there lived in an old old
country house three sisters whose mother had died when they were quite
small."

"Why did she die?"

"She was ill."

Michael sighed sympathetically.

"These three sisters," his mother went on, "lived with their father, an
old clergyman."

"Was he kind to them?"

"According to his own ideas he was very kind. But the youngest sister
always wanted to have her own way and one day when she was feeling very
cross because her father had told her she was to go and stay with an
aunt, who should come riding along a lane but----"

"That man," interrupted Michael, greatly excited.

"A rider on horseback. And he said good morning, and she said good
morning, though she had no business to."

"Why hadn't she?"

"Because it isn't right for girls to speak to riders on horseback
without being introduced. But the rider was very handsome and brave and
after that they met very often, and then one day he said, 'Won't you
ride away with me?' and she rode away with him and never saw her father
or her sisters or the old house any more."

Mrs. Fane had turned her face to the sunset again.

"Is that all?" Michael asked.

"That's all."

"Was they happy ever afterwards?"

"Very happy--too happy."

"Are they happy now?"

"Very happy--too happy."

"Did they live in a castle?"

"Sometimes, and sometimes they lived in a beautiful ship and went
sailing away to the most beautiful cities in the world."

"Can't Michael go with you?" he asked.

"Darling boy, it's a fairy-tale."

"Is it?" he said doubtfully.

The two wonderful months were over. One long day of packing up was the
end of them, and when they got back to London there was more packing up,
after a few days of which Mrs. Fane took Michael in her arms and kissed
him good-bye and told him to be very good. Michael tried not to cry; but
the tears were forced out by a huge lump in his throat when he saw a cab
at the door, pointing the other way from London. He could not bear the
heaped-up luggage and Nurse's promises of sitting up late that evening
for a great treat. He did not want to sit up late, and when his mother
whispered there was a surprize for him in the drawing-room, he did not
care at all for a surprize. But nothing could make the minutes stay
still. He was allowed to watch the cab going down the road, but he had
no hear