“No. 8, you’re the pattern boy of the family, and I shall come with you in the fly, and tell you a story as we go along for a reward.”

No. 8 liked both the praise, and the cake, and the penny, and the kiss, and the promise of the rewarding story for going under the table; but the why and wherefore of all these charming facts, was a complete mystery to him.  What did that matter, however?  He ran up-stairs, and got dressed, and was ready before anyone else; and, by a miracle of good fortune, was on the steps, and not in the middle of the carriage-drive, when the fly arrived, which was to take one batch of the large family party to the railway station.

No one was as fond of the fly conveyance as of the open carriage; for, in the first place, it was usually very full and stuffy; and, in the second, very little of the country could be seen from the windows.

But, on the present occasion, Aunt Judy having offered her services to accompany the fly detachment, there was a wonderful alteration of sentiment, as to who should be included.  Aunt Judy, however, had her own ideas.  The three little ones belonged to the fly, as it were by ancient usage and custom, and more than five it would not hold.

Five it would hold, however, and five accordingly got in, No. 4 having pleaded her own cause to be “thrown in:”  and at last, with nurses and luggage and No. 5 outside, away they drove, leaving the open carriage and the rest to follow.

Nothing is perfect in this world.  Those who had the airy drive missed the story, and regretted it; but it was fair that the pleasure should be divided.

And, after all, although the fly might be a little stuffy and closely packed, and although it cost some trouble to settle down without getting crushed, and make footstools of carpet bags, and let down all the windows,—­the commotion was soon over; and it was a wonderful lull of peace and quietness, after the confusion and worry of packing and running about, to sit even in a rattling fly.  And so for five minutes and more, all the travellers felt it to be, and a soothing silence ensued; some leaning back, others looking silently out at the retreating landscape, or studying with earnestness the wonderful red plush lining of the vehicle itself.

But presently, after the rest had lasted sufficiently long to recruit all the spirits, No. 7 remarked, not speaking to anybody in particular, “I thought Aunt Judy was going to tell us a story.”

No. 7 was a great smiler in a quiet way, and he smiled now, as he addressed his remark to the general contents of the fly.

Aunt Judy laughed, and inquired for whom the observation was meant, adding her readiness to begin, if they would agree to sit quiet and comfortable, without shuffling up and down, or disputing about space and heat; and, these points being agreed to, she began her story as follows:-

“There were once upon a time a man and his wife who had an only son.  They were Germans, I believe, for all the funny things that happen, happen in Germany, as you know by Grimm’s fairy tales.