Before I close this long letter, and I must do so now--I want to tell you of an incident that occurred yesterday. I was taking a stroll up above the town, by myself, for I will admit I was in a "mood." There are a lot of monks in Lucerne. You can see them on the street, fat, rolly-poly looking men, bare, oddly-cropped heads, and outwardly clad in what looks like a dressing gown. Well, I was curious to see the convent where the monks live a life of ease, I suppose to get used to the eternal "rest" which they expect when they get to heaven, of which I have my "doubts." However, I did not find the convent, nor did I see any monks, but as I was walking along an unfrequently traveled road, I met a little boy and girl, walking towards me, hand in hand. They were crying. When they saw me, they wiped their eyes and stopped. I saw they were poorly clad, and, somewhat dirty. I became interested in them, but they were so shy that it was with difficulty I got them to remain. They looked at the coppers I held out, but they did not move until I placed a silver piece beside them. Their eyes rounded out, then, and the little girl became brave enough to come and take them. Well, I tried my German on them, but they were, evidently, too Swiss to understand me--I was at the time making a whistle from a small willow which I had cut from the wayside. I seated myself on the bank and went on making my whistle. The children watched me pound the bark, then twist off the loosened peeling, and finish the whistle. When I blew it, they laughed. I handed it to the boy, who timidly put it to his lips. They sat down by me, and I made a whistle for the girl, then a third, bigger one, which I stuck into the boy's pocket, telling him to take it home. You ought to have seen the changed expression on those two dirty faces when they left me, blowing happily on their willow whistles. I was lonesome no longer. What a little thing will bring joy into a dreary life! Love to all with heaping measures for you, from Yours as ever, CHESTER. CHAPTER XIV. A week of comparative quiet brought little change for the better to Lucy, so it was decided that they would by easy stages, get back to London, thence to Cork and Kildare Villa. Lucy kept Chester informed of their doings, saying as little as possible about her health. As she did not wish to deprive him of the full enjoyment of his visit to Switzerland, she did not send him word of their intentions, until they were ready to leave. They would go by way of Calais and Dover, the short-water route, she wrote him. When Chester received this information he hastily cut short his sight seeing, and started for London by way of Rotterdam. The long ride alone was somewhat tiresome, and he was glad to meet again some of the elders in the land of canals and windmills.