for? I am on the horns of
expectation--'_Mon premier_--'"

"After all, it is not so funny as I thought," I answer, brusquely. "I
think we will keep it for some wet Sunday afternoon, when we are short
of something to do."

CHAPTER XIV.

The day of departure has really come. We have eaten our last bif-teck
_aux pommes frites_, and drank our last cup of coffee in the Saxe. I
have had my last look at the familiar square, at the great dome of the
Frauen Kirchen, at the high houses with their dormer-windows, at the
ugly big statue standing with its stiff black back rudely turned to the
hotel, at the piled hay-carts. We are really and truly off. Our faces
are set Barbara-ward, Bobby-ward, jackdaw-ward. I am in such rampaging
spirits, that I literally do not know what to do with myself. I feel
that I should like to tuck my tail, if I had one, between my legs, like
Vick, and race round and round in an insane and unmeaning circle, as she
does on the lawn at home, when oppressed by the overflow of her own
gayety.

It seems to me as if there never had been such a day. I look at the sky
as we drive along to the station. Call it sapphire, turquoise--indeed!
What dull stone that ever lived darkling in a mine is fit to be named
even in metaphor with this pale yet brilliant arch that so softly leans
above us? It seems to me as if all the people we meet were handsome and
well-featured--as if the Elbe were the noblest river that ever ran,
carrying the sunlight in flakes of gold and diamond on its breast--as if
all life were one long and kindly jest.

As we reach the station I see Mr. Musgrave standing on the pavement
awaiting us, with a sort of mixed and compound look on his face.

"Here is Mr. Musgrave come to see us off!" I cry, jocundly. "Come to say
'_Adieu!_' ha! ha! I must not forget to ask him whether he has any more
riddles."

"For Heaven's sake do not!" cries Sir Roger, smiling in spite of
himself, yet seriously and earnestly desirous of checking my wit. "Let
the poor boy have a little peace! He no more understands chaff than I
understand Parsee."

I hop out of the carriage like a parched pea, scorning equally the step
and Frank's hand extended to help me. I feel to-day as if I need only
stand on tiptoe, and stretch out my arms in order to be able to fly.

"So you have come to see the last of us," I say, trying to pull a long
face, and walking with him into the waiting-room.

"Yes; rather a mistake, is not i