nt to know how Mont
Blanc looks from my window, so I won't waste my time in bed," said he.
"Besides, I'm rather keen to see the chamois, aren't you? The only one
I've ever met was stuffed, and rather moth-eaten. He was in a dime
museum in New York."

I was up at half-past six next day, and at my window, where Mont Blanc
in early sunshine smote me in the face with its nearness. A sudden
longing took me, as the longing for a great white lamp takes a moth,
to fly at it, or, in other words, to get myself to the top. I had
never "done" any Swiss ascents, though I knew almost every peak and
pinnacle of rock in Cumberland and Wales, and it seemed to me that I
should be a muff to miss the chance of such a climb as this. By the
time I had dressed, the thing was decided. I would see about guides,
and try to arrange at once for the ascent.

The thought had joy in it, and I ran downstairs, whistling the "Alpine
Maid." The Boy and I had settled overnight that we would drink our
morning coffee and eat our rolls together, at a quarter to eight, long
before the Contessa or her friends had opened their eyes; but the
appointed time was not yet come, and I had it in mind to make
enquiries concerning my excursion, when I almost stumbled against the
Boy, coming in at the front door.

"I've been out in the park," said he, when we had exchanged by way of
greeting a "Hello, Boy" and "Hello, Man."

"Meet any chamois?"

"Yes."

"Honour bright? An inspection of the park from my window led me to
fear that they must be an engaging myth. There's a fine big garden,
with a lot of trees in it, but as for rocks or chamois----"

"There are both. Come out and I'll show you."

I went, walking beside the Boy along one well-kept path after another,
until suddenly the bubble delusion broke. In a cage stood or sat, in
various attitudes of bored dejection, five melancholy little animals
with horns, and singularly large, prominent eyes. Their aspect begged
pardon for their degradation, as they turned their backs with weak
scorn upon a toy rock in the centre of their prison. "We have reason
to believe that we are well connected," they seemed to bleat, "because
there is an ancient legend in our household that we are chamois, but
you must not judge the family by us."

"I believe," said the Boy pitifully, "they've degenerated so far now,
that, if one gave them Mont Blanc to bound upon, they wouldn't know
what to do with it."

"I would, however," said I