them, especially as grandmother had
strenuously forbidden his attempting to mend matters by "threading his
way in and out," and getting lost himself in the process. And yet when
they were all comfortably at the hotel again, their troubles forgotten,
and Sylvia had time to relate her remarkable dream, he teased her
unmercifully the whole evening about her description of the personal
appearance of Henry the Fourth. He was, according to Ralph, neither tall
nor pale, and he certainly could not have had long thin hands, nor did
people--kings, that is to say, at that date--wear lace ruffles or pointed
shoes. Had Molly not known, for a fact, that all their lesson books were
unget-at-ably packed up, she would certainly have suspected Ralph of a
sly peep at Mrs. Markham, just on purpose "to set Sylvia down." But
failing this weapon, her defence of Sylvia was, it must be confessed,
somewhat illogical.

She didn't care, she declared, whether Henry the Fourth was big or
little, or how he was dressed. It was very clever of Sylvia to dream such
a nice dream about real history things, and Ralph couldn't dream such a
dream if he tried ever so hard.

Boys are aggravating creatures, are they not?

CHAPTER IV.

THE SIX PINLESS BROOCHES.

"They have no school, no governess, and do just what they please,
No little worries vex the birds that live up in the trees."

THE DISCONTENTED STARLINGS.

Not many days after this thrilling adventure of Sylvia's, the little
party of travellers reached their destination, grandmother's pretty house
at Chalet. They were of course delighted to be there, everything was so
bright, and fresh, and comfortable, and grandmother herself was glad to
be again settled down at what to her now represented home. But yet, at
the bottom of their hearts, the children were a little sorry that the
travelling was over. True, Molly declared that, though their passage
across the Channel had really been a very good one as these dreadful
experiences go, nothing would _ever_ induce her to repeat the experiment;
whatever came of it, there was no help for it, live and die in France, at
least on this side of the water, she _must_.

"I am never going to marry, you know," she observed to Sylvia, "so for
that it doesn't matter, as of course I _couldn't_ marry a Frenchman. But
you will come over to see me sometimes and bring your children, and when
I get very old, as I shall have no one to be kind to me