DURING the next month or two my solitary town-life seemed,by contrast, unusually dull and tedious. I missed the pleasant friendsI had left behind at Elveston--the genial interchange of thought--the sympathywhich gave to one's ideas a new and vivid reality: but, perhaps more thanall, I missed the companionship of the two Fairies--or Dream-Children,for I had not yet solved the problem as to who or what they were--whosesweet playfulness had shed a magic radiance over my life.

In office-hours--which I suppose reduce most men to themental condition of a coffee-mill or a mangle--time sped along much asusual: it was in the pauses of life, the desolate hours when books andnewspapers palled on the sated appetite, and when, thrown back upon one'sown dreary musings, one strove--all in vain--to people the vacant air withthe dear faces of absent friends, that the real bitterness of solitudemade itself felt.

One evening, feeling my life a little more wearisome thanusual, I strolled down to my Club, not so much with the hope of meetingany friend there, for London was now `out of town', as with the feelingthat here, at least, I should hear `sweet words of human speech', and comeinto contact with human thought.

However, almost the first face I saw there was that ofa friend. Eric Lindon was lounging, with rather a `bored' expression offace, over a newspaper; and we fell into conversation with a mutual satisfactionwhich neither of us tried to conceal.

After a while I ventured to introduce what was just thenthe main subject of my thoughts. `And so the Doctor' (a name we had adoptedby a tacit agreement, as a convenient compromise between the formalityof `Doctor Forester' and the intimacy--to which Eric Lindon hardly seemedentitled--of `Arthur') `has gone abroad by this time, I suppose? Can yougive me his present address?'

`He is still at Elveston--I believe,' was the reply. `ButI have not been there since I last met you.'

I did not know which part of this intelligence to wonderat most. `And might I ask--if it isn't taking too much of a liberty--whenyour wedding-bells are to--or perhaps they have rung, already?'

`No,' said Eric, in a steady voice, which betrayed scarcelya trace of emotion: `that engagement is at an end. I am still "Benedickthe unmarried man".'

After this, the thick-coming fancies--all radiant withnew possibilities of happiness for Arthur--were far too bewildering toadmit of any further conversation, and I was only too glad to avail myselfof the first decent excuse, that offered itself, for retiring into silence.

The next day I wrote to Arthur, with as much of a reprimandfor his long silence as I could bring myself to put into words, begginghim to tell me how the world went with him.

Needs must that three or four days--possibly more--shouldelapse before I could receive his reply; and never had I known days dragtheir slow length along with a more tedious indolence.

To while away the time, I strolled, one afternoon, intoKensington Gardens, and, wandering aimlessly along any path that presenteditself, I soon became aware that I had somehow strayed into one that waswholly new to me. Still, my elfish experiences seemed to have so completelyfaded out of my life that nothing was further from my thoughts than theidea of again meeting my fairy-friends, when I chanced to notice a smallcreature moving among the grass that fringed the path, that did not seemto be an insect, or a frog, or any other living thing that I could thinkof. Cautiously kneeling down, and making an ex tempore cage of my two hands,I imprisoned the little wanderer, and felt a sudden thrill of surpriseand delight on discovering that my prisoner was no other than Bruno himself!

Bruno took the matter very coolly, and, when I had replacedhim on the ground, where he would be within easy conversational distance,he began talking, just as if it were only a few minutes since last we hadmet.

`Doos oo know what the Rule is,' he enquired, `when oocatches a Fairy, withouten its having tolded oo where it was?' (Bruno'snotions of English Grammar had certainly not improved since our last meeting.)

`No,' I said. `I didn't know there was any Rule aboutit.'

`I think oo've got a right to eat me,' said the littlefellow, looking up into my face with a winning smile. `But I'm not prufficklysure. Oo'd better not do it wizout asking.'

It did indeed seem reasonable not to take so irrevocablea step as that, without due enquiry. `I'll certainly ask about it, first,'I said. `Besides, I don't know yet whether you would be worth eating!'

`I guess I'm deliciously good to eat,' Bruno remarkedin a satisfied tone, as if it were something to be rather proud of.

`And what are you doing here, Bruno?'

`That's not my name!' said my cunning little friend. `Don'too know my name's "Oh Bruno!"? That's what Sylvie always calls me, whenI says mine lessons.'

`Well then, what are you doing here, oh Bruno?'

`Doing mine lessons, a-course!' With that roguish twinklein his eye, that always came when he knew he was talking nonsense.

`Oh, that's the way you do your lessons, is it? And doyou remember them well?'

`Always can 'member mine lessons,' said Bruno. `It's Sylvie'slessons that's so dreffully hard to 'member!' He frowned, as if in agoniesof thought, and tapped his forehead with his knuckles. `I ca'n't thinkenough to understand them!' he said despairingly. `It wants double thinking,I believe!'

`But where's Sylvie gone?'

`That's just what I want to know!' said Bruno disconsolately.`What ever's the good of setting me lessons, when she isn't here to 'splainthe hard bits?'

`I'll find her for you!' I volunteered; and, getting up,I wandered round the tree under whose shade I had been reclining, lookingon all sides for Sylvie. In another minute I again noticed some strangething moving among the grass, and, kneeling down, was immediately confrontedwith Sylvie's innocent face, lighted up with a joyful surprise at seeingme, and was accosted, in the sweet voice I knew so well, with what seemedto be the end of a sentence whose beginning I had failed to catch.

`--and I think he ought to have finished them by thistime. So I'm going back to him. Will you come too? It's only just roundat the other side of this tree.'

It was but a few steps for me; but it was a great manyfor Sylvie; and I had to be very careful to walk slowly, in order not toleave the little creature so far behind as to lose sight of her.

To find Bruno's lessons was easy enough: they appearedto be neatly written out on large smooth ivy-leaves, which were scatteredin some confusion over a little patch of ground where the grass had beenworn away; but the pale student, who ought by rights to have been bendingover them, was nowhere to be seen: we looked in all directions, for sometime in vain; but at last Sylvie's sharp eyes detected him, swinging ona tendril of ivy, and Sylvie's stern voice commanded his instant returnto terra firma and to the business of Life.

`Pleasure first and business afterwards' seemed to bethe motto of these tiny folk, so many hugs and kisses had to be interchangedbefore anything else could be done.

`Now, Bruno,' Sylvie said reproachfully, `didn't I tellyou you were to go on with your lessons, unless you heard to the contrary?'

`But I did heard to the contrary!' Bruno insisted, witha mischievous twinkle in his eye.

`What did you hear, you wicked boy?'

`It were a sort of noise in the air,' said Bruno: `a sortof a scrambling noise. Didn't oo hear it, Mister Sir?'

`Well, anyhow, you needn't go to sleep over them, youlazy-lazy!' For Bruno had curled himself up, on the largest `lesson', andwas arranging another as a pillow.

`I wasn't asleep!' said Bruno, in a deeply-injured tone.`When I shuts mine eyes, it's to show that I'm awake!'

`Well, how much have you learned, then?'

`I've learned a little tiny bit,' said Bruno, modestly,being evidently afraid of overstating his achievement. `Ca'n't learn nomore!'

`Oh Bruno! You know you can, if you like.'

`Course I can, if I like,' the pale student replied; `butI ca'n't if I don't like!'

Sylvie had a way--which I could not too highly admire--ofevading Bruno's logical perplexities by suddenly striking into a new lineof thought; and this masterly stratagem she now adopted.

`Well, I must say one thing--'

`Did oo know, Mister Sir,' Bruno thoughtfully remarked,`that Sylvie ca'n't count? Whenever she says "I must say one thing", Iknow quite well she'll say two things! And she always doos.'

`Two heads are better than one, Bruno,' I said, but withno very distinct idea as to what I meant by it.

`I shouldn't mind having two heads,' Bruno said softlyto himself: `one head to eat mine dinner, and one head to argue wiz Sylvie--doosoo think oo'd look prettier if oo'd got two heads, Mister Sir?'

The case did not, I assured him, admit of a doubt.

`The reason why Sylvie's so cross--' Bruno went on veryseriously, almost sadly.

Sylvie's eyes grew large and round with surprise at thisnew line of enquiry--her rosy face being perfectly radiant with good humour.But she said nothing.

`Wouldn't it be better to tell me after the lessons areover?' I suggested.

`Very well,' Bruno said with a resigned air: `only shewo'n't be cross then.'

`There's only three lessons to do,' said Sylvie. `Spelling,and Geography, and Singing.'

`Not Arithmetic?' I said.

`No, he hasn't a head for Arithmetic--'

`Course I haven't!' said Bruno. `Mine head's for hair.I haven't got a lot of heads!'

`--and he ca'n't learn his Multiplication-table--'

`I like History ever so much better,' Bruno remarked.`Oo has to repeat that Muddlecome table--'

`Well, and you have to repeat--'

`No, oo hasn't!' Bruno interrupted. `History repeats itself.The Professor said so!'

Sylvie was arranging some letters on a board--E--V--I--L.`Now, Bruno,' she said, `what does that spell?'

Bruno looked at it, in solemn silence, for a minute. `Iknow what it doesn't spell!' he said at last.

`That's no good,' said Sylvie. `What does it spell?'

Bruno took another look at the mysterious letters. `Why,it's "LIVE", backwards!' he exclaimed. (I thought it was, indeed.)

`How did you manage to see that?' said Sylvie.

`I just twiddled my eyes,' said Bruno, `and then I sawit directly. Now may I sing the King-fisher Song?'

`Geography next,' said Sylvie. `Don't you know the Rules?'

`I think there oughtn't to be such a lot of Rules, Sylvie!I thinks--'

`Yes, there ought to be such a lot of Rules, you wicked,wicked boy! And how dare you think at all about it? And shut up that mouthdirectly!'

So, as `that mouth' didn't seem inclined to shut up ofitself, Sylvie shut it for him--with both hands--and sealed it with a kiss,just as you would fasten up a letter.

`Now that Bruno is fastened up from talking,' she wenton, turning to me, `I'll show you the Map he does his lessons on.'

And there it was, a large Map of the World, spread outon the ground. It was so large that Bruno had to crawl about on it, topoint out the places named in the `King-fisher Lesson'.

`When a King-fisher sees a Lady-bird flying away, he says"Ceylon, if you Candia!" And when he catches it, he says "Come to Media!And if you're Hungary or thirsty, I'll give you some Nubia!" When he takesit in his claws, he says "Europe!" When he puts it into his beak, he says"India!" When he's swallowed it, he says "Eton!" That's all.'

`That's quite perfect,' said Sylvie. `Now, you may singthe King-fisher Song.'

`Will oo sing the chorus?' Bruno said to me.

I was just beginning to say `I'm afraid I don't know thewords', when Sylvie silently turned the map over, and I found the wordswere all written on the back. In one respect it was a very peculiar song:the chorus to each verse came in the middle, instead of at the end of it.However, the tune was so easy that I soon picked it up, and managed thechorus as well, perhaps, as it is possible for one person to manage sucha thing. It was in vain that I signed to Sylvie to help me: she only smiledsweetly and shook her head.

`King Fisher courted Lady Bird--
Sing Beans, sing Bones, sing Butterflies!
   "Find me my match," he said,
"With such a noble head--
With such a beard, as white as curd--
   With such expressive eyes!"

`"Yet pins have heads," said Lady Bird--
Sing Prunes, sing Prawns, sing Primrose-Hill!
   "And, where you stick them in,
   They stay, and thus a pin
Is very much to be preferred
   To one that's never still!"

`"Oysters have beards," said Lady Bird--
Sing Flies, sing Frogs, sing Fiddle-strings!
   "I love them, for I know
   They never chatter so:
They would not say one single word--
   Not if you crowned them Kings!"

`"Needles have eyes," said Lady Bird--
Sing Cats, sing Corks, sing Cowslip-tea!
   "And they are sharp--just what
   Your Majesty is not:
So get you gone--' tis too absurd
   To come a-courting me!"'

`So he went away,' Bruno added as a kind of postscript,when the last note of the song had died away, `Just like he always did.'

`Oh, my dear Bruno!' Sylvie exclaimed, with her handsover her ears. `You shouldn't say "like": you should say "what".'

To which Bruno replied, doggedly, `I only says "what!"when oo doosn't speak loud, so as I can hear oo.'

`Where did he go to?' I asked, hoping to prevent an argument.

`He went more far than he'd never been before,' said Bruno.

`You should never say "more far",' Sylvie corrected him:`you should say "farther".'

`Then oo shouldn't say "more broth", when we're at dinner,'Bruno retorted: `oo should say "brother"!'

This time Sylvie evaded an argument by turning away, andbeginning to roll up the Map. `Lessons are over!' she proclaimed in hersweetest tones.

`And has there been no crying over them?' I enquired.`Little boys always cry over their lessons, don't they?'

`I never cries after twelve o'clock,' said Bruno: `'causethen it's getting so near to dinner-time.'

`Sometimes, in the morning,' Sylvie said in a low voice;`when it's Geography-day, and when he's been disobe--'

`What a fellow you are to talk, Sylvie!' Bruno hastilyinterposed. `Doos oo think the world was made for oo to talk in?'

`Why, where would you have me talk, then?' Sylvie said,evidently quite ready for an argument.

But Bruno answered resolutely. `I'm not going to argueabout it, `cause it's getting late, and there wo'n't be time--but oo'sas 'ong as everoo can be!' And he rubbed the back of his hand across hiseyes, in which tears were beginning to glitter.

Sylvie's eyes filled with tears in a moment. `I didn'tmean it, Bruno, darling!' she whispered; and the rest of the argument waslost `amid the tangles of Neæra's hair', while the two disputantshugged and kissed each other.

But this new form of argument was brought to a suddenend by a flash of lightning, which was closely followed by a peal of thunder,and by a torrent of raindrops, which came hissing and spitting, almostlike live creatures, through the leaves of the tree that sheltered us.`Why, it's raining cats and dogs!' I said.

`And all the dogs has come down first,' said Bruno: `there'snothing but cats coming down now!'

In another minute the pattering ceased, as suddenly asit had begun. I stepped out from under the tree, and found that the stormwas over; but I looked in vain, on my return, for my tiny companions. Theyhad vanished with the storm, and there was nothing for it but to make thebest of my way home.

On the table lay, awaiting my return, an envelope of thatpeculiar yellow tint which always announces a telegram, and which mustbe, in the memories of so many of us, inseparably linked with some greatand sudden sorrow--something that has cast a shadow, never in this worldto be wholly lifted off, on the brightness of Life. No doubt it has alsoheralded--for many of us--some sudden news of joy; but this, I think, isless common: human life seems, on the whole, to contain more of sorrowthan of joy. And yet the world goes on. Who knows why?

This time, however, there was no shock of sorrow to befaced: in fact, the few words it contained (`Could not bring myself towrite. Come soon. Always welcome. A letter follows this. Arthur.') seemedso like Arthur himself speaking, that it gave me quite a thrill of pleasure,and I at once began the preparations needed for the journey.