He nodded, full of importance. He was such a clever fellow. He knew what it was all about. “And now dress yourself quickly.” Paul flew up-stairs to the room where his clothes were kept, and suddenly--he never clearly knew on which step it was--a long-drawn shrill sound escaped his mouth; there was no doubt any more--he could whistle! he tried for the second, the third time--it went splendidly. When he came back to his mother in all his finery he shouted, jubilantly, “Mamma, I can whistle!” and was astonished that she showed so little interest in his art. She only pulled his collar straight and said, “You happy children!” Then she took his hand, and their pilgrimage began. When they reached the dark fir-wood in which the wolves and goblins lived he had just finished his studies for “Kommt in Vogel geflogen” (A Bird Comes A-flying), and when they came out again into the open field he could be sure that “Heil Dir im Siegerkranz” (God Save the Queen) went without a flaw. His mother looked down at him with a sad smile; each shrill note made her start, but she said nothing. The White House now stood close before them. He no longer thought of his new art. All his faculties were absorbed in what he saw. First there came a high red-brick wall with a gate in it, on the posts of which stood two stone heads; then farther on a large grass-grown court; whole rows of wagons stood in it, and it was flanked by low gray farm buildings, forming a big square. In the middle lay a sort of pool, surrounded by a low hedge of may, in which a troop of quacking ducks were making merry. “And where is the White House, mamma?” asked Paul, whom this did not please at all. “Behind the garden,” replied his mother. Her voice had a strange, husky sound, and her hand clasped his so firmly that he almost screamed with pain. Now they turned the corner of the garden fence, and before Paul’s eyes lay a simple two-storied house, closely shaded by lime-trees, and having little or nothing remarkable about it. It did not look nearly as white, either, as from the distance. “Is this it?” asked Paul, drawling out the words. “Yes; this is it,” answered his mother. “And where are the glass balls and the sundial?” he asked. A desire to cry came over him suddenly. He had imagined everything a thousand times more beautiful; if they had cheated him regarding the glass balls and the sundial as well, he would not have been surprised. At this moment two Newfoundland dogs, as black as coal, came rushing up to them with suppressed barks. He took refuge behind his mother’s dress and began to scream. “Caro! Nero!” called a sweet childish voice from the house door, and the two monsters, howling joyfully, rushed off in the direction whence the voice came.