At last she stopped, dabbed away the tears of mirth, and said, "Oh, Tinker, I am so much obliged to you! It's all very well to laugh now; but it might have been horrid!" "It was the simplest thing in the world," said Tinker.

Then, rubbing his head ruefully, he added, "I wish those foreigners would not wear gold buttons on their white waistcoats in the daytime.

They have no more notion of how to dress than a cat--the men haven't." They hurried along, looking back now and again to see if they were followed.

They were not, for Count Sigismond was now sitting up in the shady dell, staring round it with fishy eyes, and wondering dully whether he owed his disaster entirely to an angel child, or whether Mont Pelee had affected the neighbourhood.

He gasped still.
As they drew near the town, Tinker grew thoughtful.