London, because Dickens and Little Nell lived there. But I
think I shall enjoy Switzerland most. We expect to stay there a long time.
It is such a brave little country. Papa has told me a great deal about
its heroes. He is going to take me to see the Lion of Lucerne, and to
Altdorf, under the lime-tree, where William Tell shot the apple. I love
that story."

"Well, aren't you _queer!_" exclaimed Fidelia, opening her eyes wide and
looking at Lloyd as if she were some sort of a freak. It was her tone and
look that were offensive, more than her words. Lloyd was furious.

"No, I am _not_ queah, Miss Sattawhite!" she exclaimed, moving away much
ruffled. As she flounced toward the cabin, her eyes very bright and her
cheeks very red, she looked back with an indignant glance. "I wish now
that I'd told her why I'm sorry for Howl and Henny. I'd be sorry for
anybody that had such a rude sistah!"

But there were other children on the vessel whose acquaintance Lloyd made
before the week was over. She played checkers and quoits with the boys,
and paper dolls with the girls, and one sunny morning she was invited to
join the group under the stairs, where she heard the story of the white
prince from beginning to end, and found out why he vanished.

Those were happy days on the big steamer, despite the fact that Howl and
Henny haunted her like two hungry little shadows. Sometimes the captain
himself came down and walked with her. The Shermans sat at his table, and
he had grown quite fond of the little Kentucky girl with her soft Southern
accent. As they paced the deck hand in hand, he told her marvellous tales
of the sea, till she grew to love the ship and the heaving water world
around them, and wished that they might sail on and on, and never come to
land until the end of the summer.

CHAPTER III.

LLOYD MEETS HERO

It was July when they reached Switzerland. After three weeks of constant
travel, it seemed good to leave boats and railroads for awhile, and stop
to rest in the clean old town of Geneva. The windows of the big hotel
dining-room looked out on the lake, and the Little Colonel, sitting at
breakfast the morning after their arrival, could scarcely eat for watching
the scene outside.

Gay little pleasure boats flashed back and forth on the sparkling water.
The quay and bridge were thronged with people. From open windows down the
street came the tinkle of pianos, and out on the pier, where a party of
tourists were