might not be seen amid blaring trumpets. But when the dusk fell they came sadly home, so wreathed about with ivy by the little shepherdesses that they looked like walking arbours.
"Granny is packing the trunk!"
Then they realized that the whole world had forsaken them.
In their trouble they scrambled on top of the stove, dislodging the cat which had curled up on a coat and was deciding whether or no it would have to get down. They sent it rolling to the floor and tucked themselves away in its corner. From their point of vantage they had a sudden view of all the wonderful things which they must leave on the morrow—even the clock-case with the quadrant, and nearby, seated everlastingly in his armchair, their old grandfather on to whose knees they climbed so easily. On the table they saw an idle fly. Lucky insect! Tomorrow when they, alas! would be far on their journey, it could still stay at home and play.
Their grief now became unendurable. They began to cry. Their tears came so easily, without their really knowing that they were coming, that they felt sadder than ever. Then it occurred to them that perhaps even the hearts of their grandparents might be softened if they kept on weeping. So they wailed on, timidly at first, but then as they saw they were producing no effect, more loudly, and in concert. Before long they were howling like lost souls. In the meantime the hot tiles had begun to scorch their legs, and suddenly their howls turned into shrieks of pain. They jumped down, with a great rustling of all their ivy wreaths, roaring like wild creatures in a forest fire.
With fading hopes, but not to neglect any possible chance, they tried a last means of escape from fate. They would be
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