“So the little Foxes ran up to the nursery. And soon Bruno went into the hall, and rang the big bell. ‘Tingle, tingle, tingle! Supper, supper, supper!’ Down came the little Foxes, in such a hurry for their supper! Clean pinafores! Spoons in their hands! And, when they got into the dining-room, there was ever such a white table-cloth on the table! But there was nothing on it but a big whip. And they had _such_ a whipping!” (I put my handkerchief to my eyes, and Bruno hastily climbed upon my knee and stroked my face. “Only _one_ more whipping, Mister Sir!” he whispered. “Don’t cry more than oo ca’n’t help!”) “And the next morning early, Bruno rang the big bell again. ‘Tingle, tingle, tingle! Breakfast, breakfast, breakfast!’ Down came the little Foxes! Clean pinafores! Spoons in their hands! No breakfast! Only the big whip! Then came lessons,” Sylvie hurried on, for I still had my handkerchief to my eyes. “And the little Foxes were ever so good! And they learned their lessons backwards, and forwards, and upside-down. And at last Bruno rang the big bell again. ‘Tingle, tingle, tingle! Dinner, dinner, dinner!’ And when the little Foxes came down——” (“Had they clean pinafores on?” Bruno enquired. “Of course!” said Sylvie. “And spoons?” “Why, you _know_ they had!” “Couldn’t be _certain_,” said Bruno.) “—they came as slow as slow! And they said ‘Oh! There’ll be no dinner! There’ll only be the big whip!’ But, when they got into the room, they saw the most _lovely_ dinner!” (“Buns?” cried Bruno, clapping his hands.) “Buns, and cake, and——” (“—and jam?” said Bruno.) “Yes, jam—and soup—and——” (“—and _sugar plums_!” Bruno put in once more; and Sylvie seemed satisfied.) “And ever after that, they _were_ such good little Foxes! They did their lessons as good as gold—and they never did what Bruno told them not to—and they never ate each other any more—and _they never ate themselves_!” The story came to an end so suddenly, it almost took my breath away; however I did my best to make a pretty speech of thanks. “I’m sure it’s very—very—very much so, I’m sure!” I seemed to hear myself say. CHAPTER XVI. BEYOND THESE VOICES. “I didn’t quite catch what you said!” were the next words that reached my ear, but certainly _not_ in the voice either of Sylvie or of Bruno, whom I could just see, through the crowd of guests, standing by the piano, and listening to the Count’s song. Mein Herr was the speaker. “I didn’t quite catch what you said!” he repeated. “But I’ve no doubt you take _my_ view of it. Thank you _very_ much for your kind attention. There is only but _one_ verse left to be sung!” These last words were not in the gentle voice of Mein Herr, but in the deep bass of the French Count. And, in the silence that followed, the final stanza of ‘Tottles’ rang through the room. [Illustration: ‘NEVER!’ YELLED TOTTLES]