As soon as she stopped at her chair they dropped down on the floor, tailor-fashion, waiting for her to begin.  Their devotion amused her at first, and gratified her later, when the English woman who had complained of their manners stopped to speak to her.

“You are a real little ‘good Samaritan,’” she said, “to keep those two nuisances quiet.  The passengers owe you a vote of thanks.  It is very sweet of you, my dear, to sacrifice yourself for others in that way.”

Lloyd grew very red.  She had not looked upon it as a sacrifice.  She had been amusing herself.  But after awhile story-telling did become very tiresome as a steady occupation.  She groaned whenever she saw the boys coming toward her.

Fidelia joined them on several occasions, but her appearance was always the signal for a quarrel to begin.  Not until one morning when the boys were locked in their stateroom for punishment, did she have a chance to speak to Lloyd by herself.

“The boys opened a port-hole this morning,” explained Fidelia.  “They had been forbidden to touch it.  Poor Beauty was asleep on the couch just under it, and a big wave sloshed over him and nearly drowned him.  He was soaked through.  It gave him a chill, and mamma is in a terrible way about him.  Howl and Henny told Fanchette they wanted him to drown.  That’s why they did it.  They will be locked up all morning.  I should think that you’d be glad.  I don’t see how you stand them tagging after you all the time.  They are the meanest boys I ever knew.”

“They are not mean to me,” said Lloyd.  “I can’t help feelin’ sorry for them.”  Then she stopped abruptly, with a blush, feeling that was not a polite thing to say to the boys’ sister.

“I’m sure I don’t see why you should feel sorry for them,” said Fidelia, angrily.  At which the Little Colonel was more embarrassed than ever.  She could not tell Fidelia that it was because a little poodle received the fondling and attention that belonged to them, and that it was Fidelia’s continual faultfinding and nagging that made the boys tease her.  So after a pause she changed the subject by asking her what she wanted most to see in Europe.

“Nothing!” answered Fidelia.  “I wouldn’t give a penny to see all the old ruins and cathedrals and picture galleries in the world.  The only reason that I care to go abroad is to be able to say I have been to those places when the other girls brag about what they’ve seen.  What do you want to see?”

“Oh, thousands of things!” exclaimed Lloyd.  “There are the chateaux where kings and queens have lived, and the places that are in the old songs, like Bonnie Doon, and London Bridge, and Twickenham Ferry.  I want to see Denmark, because Hans Christian Andersen lived there, and wrote his fairy tales, and London, because Dickens and Little Nell lived there.  But I think I shall enjoy Switzerland most.  We expect to stay there a long time.  It is such a brave little country.  Papa has told me a great deal about its heroes.  He is going to take me to see the Lion of Lucerne, and to Altdorf, under the lime-tree, where William Tell shot the apple.  I love that story.”