“Now for waffles,” whispered Lilly, as they went upstairs; and when, after a few minutes of washing and brushing, they came down again into the dining-room, she called for so many things, and announced herself “starved” in such a tragical tone, that two amused waiters at once flew to the rescue, and devoted themselves to supplying her wants.  Waffle after waffle—­each hotter and crisper than the last—­did those long-suffering men produce, till even Lilly’s appetite gave out, and she was forced to own that she could not swallow another morsel.  This climax reached, they went into the parlor, and the girls sat down in the window to watch the people in the street, which, after quiet Hillsover, looked as brilliant and crowded as Broadway.

There were not many persons in the parlor.  A grave-looking couple sat at a table at some distance, and a pretty little boy in a velvet jacket was playing around the room.  He seemed about five years old; and Katy, who was fond of children, put out her hand as he went by, caught him, and lifted him into her lap.  He did not seem shy, but looked her in the face composedly, like a grown person.

“What is your name, dear?” she asked.

“Daniel D’Aubigny Sparks,” answered the little boy, His voice was prim and distinct.

“Do you live at this hotel?”

“Yes, ma’am.  I reside here with my father and mother.”

“And what do you do all day?  Are there some other little boys for you to play with?”

“I do not wish to play with any little boys,” replied Daniel D’Aubigny, in a dignified tone:  “I prefer to be with my parents.  To-day we have taken a walk.  We went to see a beautiful conservatory outside the city.  There is a Victoria Regia there.  I had often heard of this wonderful lily, and in the last number of the London ‘Musee’ there is a picture of it, represented with a small negro child standing upon one of its leaves.  My father said that he did not think this possible, but when we saw the plant we perceived that the print was not an exaggeration.  Such is the size of the leaf, that a small negro child might very easily supported upon it.”

“Oh, my!” cried Katy, feeling as if she had accidentally picked up an elderly gentleman or a college professor.  “Pray, how old are you?”

“Nearly nine, ma’am,” replied the little fellow with a bow.

Katy, too much appalled for farther speech, let him slide off her lap.  But Mr. Page, who was much diverted, continued the conversation; and Daniel, mounting a chair, crossed his short legs, and discoursed with all the gravity of an old man.  The talk was principally about himself, —­his tastes, his adventures, his ideas about art and science.  Now and then he alluded to his papa and mamma, and once to his grandfather.