“Not for _us_,” said Sylvie: “but I’m sure he would for _you_. Do come and ask him, Professor dear!” “I’ll come this minute!” said the Professor. Bruno sat up and dried his eyes. “_Isn’t_ he kind, Mister Sir?” “He is _indeed_,” said I. But the Professor took no notice of my remark. He had put on a beautiful cap with a long tassel, and was selecting one of the Other Professor’s walking-sticks, from a stand in the corner of the room. “A thick stick in one’s hand makes people respectful,” he was saying to himself. “Come along, dear children!” And we all went out into the garden together. “I shall address him, first of all,” the Professor explained as we went along, “with a few playful remarks on the weather. I shall then question him about the Other Professor. This will have a double advantage. First, it will open the conversation (you can’t even drink a bottle of wine without opening it first): and secondly, if he’s seen the Other Professor, we shall find him that way: and, if he hasn’t, we sha’n’t.” On our way, we passed the target, at which Uggug had been made to shoot during the Ambassador’s visit. “See!” said the Professor, pointing out a hole in the middle of the bull’s-eye. “His Imperial Fatness had only _one_ shot at it; and he went in just _here_!” Bruno carefully examined the hole. “Couldn’t go in _there_,” he whispered to me. “He are too _fat_!” We had no sort of difficulty in _finding_ the Gardener. Though he was hidden from us by some trees, that harsh voice of his served to direct us; and, as we drew nearer, the words of his song became more and more plainly audible:— “He thought he saw an Albatross That fluttered round the lamp: He looked again, and found it was A Penny-Postage-Stamp. ‘You’d best be getting home,’ he said: ‘The nights are very damp!’” [Illustration: ‘HE THOUGHT HE SAW AN ALBATROSS’] “Would it be afraid of catching cold?” said Bruno. “If it got _very_ damp,” Sylvie suggested, “it might stick to something, you know.” “And _that_ somefin would have to go by the post, whatever it was!” Bruno eagerly exclaimed. “Suppose it was a cow! Wouldn’t it be _dreadful_ for the other things!” “And all these things happened to _him_,” said the Professor. “That’s what makes the song so interesting.” “He must have had a very curious life,” said Sylvie. “You may say that!” the Professor heartily rejoined. “Of course she may!” cried Bruno. By this time we had come up to the Gardener, who was standing on one leg, as usual, and busily employed in watering a bed of flowers with an empty watering-can. “It hasn’t got no water in it!” Bruno explained to him, pulling his sleeve to attract his attention. “It’s lighter to hold,” said the Gardener. “A lot of water in it makes one’s arms ache.” And he went on with his work, singing softly to himself “The nights are very damp!”