wondering eyes of her new page, whose hand trembled a little even at the thought of holding up one corner of her long and flowing skirts of blue bunting. In his other hand, happily, Lonely held a wooden battle-axe covered with faded gilding—a very necessary help to his steadiness of position, as he stood there wondering just how the Goddess had managed to get safely up on so high a wagon.
What hours and hours it seemed to the excited and impatient Lonely before the great blue-and-gold float got under way! What æons he seemed to stand blinking at the strong sunlight and shaking the gathering dust from his gorgeous trunk-hose!
But at last the ten champing teams strained on the traces, the chains rattled, the whip cracked, somewhere in the dust-hung distance a band struck up, the stocky little wheels chucked and jolted on their heavy axles, the Goddess called heatedly down for her new page not to pull the clothes off her back, the tents swam out of sight, and Lonely had begun his real, his triumphal entrance into Chamboro.
Of that triumphal tour he carried away a
