"The Rhone Valley is a misunderstood valley. Even between Martigny and Brig, it is far more beautiful than anyone who has seen it only from the railway can possibly judge," pleaded Herr Widmer. "It well repays a riding or walking tour." But my soul girded against the Rhone Valley, and I would not be driven into it by persuasion. "I'd rather put up with a donkey to carry my luggage," said I, with visions of discarding half my Instantaneous Breakfasts, "than begin my walk in the Rhone Valley. Surely, Lucerne can be counted on to yield me up at least a donkey?" "You must go into Italy to find an _âne_," replied the landlord, inexorable as Destiny. I suddenly understood how a woman feels when she stamps her foot and bursts into tears. (There are advantages in being a woman.) To be thwarted for the sake of a mere, wretched animal, which I had always looked upon with indifference as the least of beasts! It was too much. My features hardened. Inwardly, I swore a great oath that, if I went to the world's end to obtain it, I would have a pack-mule, or, if worse came to worst, a pack-donkey. At this bitter moment I chanced to meet Molly's eyes and read in them a sympathy well-nigh extravagant. But I knew why it had been called out. If there is one thing which causes unbearable anguish to a true American girl it is to find herself wanting something "right away" which she cannot have. But luckily for her country's peace, her lovers' happiness, this occurs seldom. "What is the nearest place in Italy where Lord Lane could get a donkey?" she asked. "It is possible that he might be able to buy or hire one at Airolo," said our landlord. "At one time they had them there, for the railway works, and mules also. But now I do not----" "We can go there and see," said Molly. "Airolo's on the other side of the St. Gothard, and automobiles aren't allowed on the Swiss passes," remarked Jack. This, to me, sounded final, so far as Airolo was concerned, but not so with the Honourable Mrs. Winston! "What do they do to you if you _do_ go?" she asked, turning slightly pale. "They fined an American gentleman who crossed the Simplon in his automobile last year, five thousand francs," answered Herr Widmer. "Oh!" said she. "So an American did go over one of the passes? Well, thank you _so_ much; we must decide what to do, and talk it over with you again later. Meanwhile, we're very happy, for it's lovely here." Hardly had the door of the sitting-room closed on our host, when Molly, with the air of having a gun-powder plot to unfold, beckoned us both to come near. "I'll tell you what we'll do," said she, in a half-whisper, when surrounded by her body-guard of two. "First, we'll ask _everybody_ in Lucerne whether there are any mules or donkeys on the spot, just in case Herr Widmer might be mistaken; if there aren't any, let's go over the St. Gothard _in the middle of the night_." "Good heavens, what a desperate character I've married!" exclaimed Jack.