“I would like to meet the Professor,” I said. “And I would like to take you all with me, to see some friends of mine, that live near here. Would you like to come?” “I don't think the Professor would like to come,” said Sylvie. “He's very shy. But we'd like it very much. Only we'd better not come this size, you know.” The difficulty had occurred to me already: and I had felt that perhaps there would be a slight awkwardness in introducing two such tiny friends into Society. “What size will you be?” I enquired. “We'd better come as--common children,” Sylvie thoughtfully replied. “That's the easiest size to manage.” “Could you come to-day?” I said, thinking “then we could have you at the picnic!” Sylvie considered a little. “Not to-day,” she replied. “We haven't got the things ready. We'll come on--Tuesday next, if you like. And now, really Bruno, you must come and do your lessons.” “I wiss oo wouldn't say 'really Bruno!'” the little fellow pleaded, with pouting lips that made him look prettier than ever. “It always show's there's something horrid coming! And I won't kiss you, if you're so unkind.” “Ah, but you have kissed me!” Sylvie exclaimed in merry triumph. “Well then, I'll unkiss you!” And he threw his arms round her neck for this novel, but apparently not very painful, operation. “It's very like kissing!” Sylvie remarked, as soon as her lips were again free for speech. “Oo don't know nuffin about it! It were just the conkery!” Bruno replied with much severity, as he marched away. Sylvie turned her laughing face to me. “Shall we come on Tuesday?” she said. “Very well,” I said: “let it be Tuesday next. But where is the Professor? Did he come with you to Fairyland?” “No,” said Sylvie. “But he promised he'd come and see us, some day. He's getting his Lecture ready. So he has to stay at home.” “At home?” I said dreamily, not feeling quite sure what she had said. “Yes, Sir. His Lordship and Lady Muriel are at home. Please to walk this way.” CHAPTER 17. THE THREE BADGERS. Still more dreamily I found myself following this imperious voice into a room where the Earl, his daughter, and Arthur, were seated. “So you're come at last!” said Lady Muriel, in a tone of playful reproach. “I was delayed,” I stammered. Though what it was that had delayed me I should have been puzzled to explain! Luckily no questions were asked. The carriage was ordered round, the hamper, containing our contribution to the Picnic, was duly stowed away, and we set forth. There was no need for me to maintain the conversation. Lady Muriel and Arthur were evidently on those most delightful of terms, where one has no need to check thought after thought, as it rises to the lips, with the fear 'this will not be appreciated--this will give' offence--this will sound too serious--this will sound flippant': like very old friends, in fullest sympathy, their talk rippled on.