name, anything at all, however slight, which I might
associate, if only for a time, with the object of my quest, a definite
something to seek, a definite goal for my feet.

Now, when I saw that mysterious petticoat, and realised that its wearer
would probably be pretty and young and generally charming, and that
probably her name was somewhere on the waistband, the spirit of whim
rejoiced within me. "Why not," it said, "buy the petticoat, find out
the name of its owner, and, instead of seeking a vague Golden Girl,
make up your mind doggedly to find and marry her, or, failing that,
carry the petticoat with you, as a sort of Cinderella's slipper, try it
on any girl you happen to fancy, and marry her it exactly fits?"

Now, I confess, that seemed to me quite a pretty idea, and I hope the
reader will think so too. If not, I'm afraid I can offer him no better
explanation; and in fact I am all impatience to open my knapsack, and
inform myself of the name of her to the discovery of whom my wanderings
are henceforth to be devoted.

CHAPTER XVII

THE NAME UPON THE PETTICOAT

So imagine me seated in a grassy corner, with my knapsack open on the
ground and my petticoat and silk stockings spread out in front of
me,--an odd picture, to be sure, for any passer by to come upon. I
suppose I could have passed for a pedlar, but undoubtedly it would have
been very embarrassing. However, as it happened, I remained
undisturbed, and was able to examine my purchases at leisure. I had
never seen a petticoat so near before,--at all events I had never given
one such close attention. What delicious dainty things they are! How
essentially womanly--as I hope no one would call a pair of trousers
essentially manly.

How pretty it looked spread out on the grass in front of me! How soft!
how wondrously dainty the finish of every little seam! And the lace!
It almost tempts one to change one's sex to wear such things. There
was a time indeed, and not so long ago, when brave men wore garments no
less dainty.

Rupert's Cavaliers were every bit as particular about their lace
collars and frills as the lady whose pretty limbs once warmed this
cambric.

But where is the name? Ah! here it is! What sweet writing! "Sylvia
Joy, No. 6."

Sylvia Joy! What a perfectly enchanting name! and as I repeated it
enthusiastically, it seemed to have a certain familiarity for my
ear,--as though it were the name of some famous beauty or some popular