“Now, Dora, look, up there!” and he carried her off to the very farthest corner of the garden, to make sure that none of his brothers or sisters should interfere with them.  He felt quite securely hidden under protecting nut-trees, and placing himself in the right position, he began his lesson.

“Do you see, there, your five stars—­one two three, and then two more.  Do you see them distinctly?”

“Oh yes; I know them so well, so well,” said Dora.

“Well, that constellation is Cassiopeia.  And now just wait a moment, Dora.  I’ve just thought of a riddle that is very appropriate.  You can guess it easily, if you try.”

“I will if I can, but I am afraid your riddles are too hard for me:” 

    “My first’s a most delicious drink,
     But best of all when fresh, I think. 
     Add then my second, and you make
     An adjective, small pains to take! 
     My third must strait and narrow prove
     Or ’twill not lead to heaven above. 
     Now for my whole—­a countless host
     In which each separate light is lost.

“Have you guessed it, Dora?”

“No, and I’m sure I cannot guess it.  I am terribly dull at such things.  I am sorry; for it makes it stupid for you, but I can’t help it,” said Dora dolefully.

“Of course you can’t help it now, because you are not used to them,” said the boy consolingly.  “I will give you an easier one to begin with: 

    “For full enjoyment of our youth
     My first is needful as the truth,
     And at man’s very farthest end
     My second comes—­and now attend,
     Master of Greek Philosophy
     My whole, its shining crown you see.”

“I cannot, I cannot, you are only losing time and trouble, Rolf, I do not know the least bit about Greek things,” said Dora sighing.

“Never mind, I will try another country; how is this?” and before Dora could protest, the indefatigable riddle-maker declaimed: 

    “My fickle first is said to be
     England’s high-road of industry;
     But Germany denies the same
     And with a Key she makes her claim. 
     In Russia, nihilistic power
     Threatens my second, every hour. 
     But Rome, Imperial Rome, to you,
     My whole was pride and terror too!”

“That’s true!” It was a deep voice that echoed in the surrounding darkness, and the startled children clung to each other for a moment in terror.  Then Dora began to laugh.

“It is Uncle Titus,” she said, “he is sitting there in the summer-house.  Come, Rolf, let us go in and see him.”

Rolf assented; and they found Uncle Titus sitting there with his chair tipped back against the wall, looking very much pleased to see them.  Rolf returned his greeting very cordially, and inquired quite casually whether he had guessed the riddle.

“I think it must be ‘Caesar,’ is it not, my son?” said Uncle Titus tapping the lad kindly on the shoulder.