Of course, as you may imagine, there was one little heart sadly rebellious and envious over the setting out of this happy party. “Not quite big enough to fill up,” was the chief excuse given; but the little Knight of the Garter knew full well that he was considered too small every way to be for one moment taken into the calculation. Oh, what would he not have given if only his arrival in this world might have been timed in closer proximity to Harold's and Marie-Celeste's--it was such an insupportable thing to be seven long years behind! But, all the same, his time would come, and his little envious heart secretly cherished the revengeful hope that he, in turn, might have the grim satisfaction of informing other young hopefuls that their extreme youth and diminutive proportions excluded them from participating in this or that pleasure to which his riper age entitled him, all of which unknightly and most unchristian sentiments we trust will be put to rout when he comes to years of discretion. But this aside about Albert has been merely by way of parenthesis while the party from the Little Castle are mounting the steps to the break, and stowing themselves away in their places. Uncle Fritz, who had spent all his boyhood on a New England farm near Franconia, and taken many a trip on a White Mountain coach by the side of an indulgent driver, had early mastered the secret of competent four-in-hand driving, and was therefore first to take his seat on the driver's almost perpendicular cushion. Next to him sat Harold, who could also manage the four-in-hand whenever Uncle Fritz thought best to resign in his favor, and next to Harold, Marie-Celeste, grateful for the arrangement that accorded to her a seat on the outside edge. On the middle seat Aunt Lou sat alone in solemn grandeur, but only until they could cover the little distance to the White Hart Inn to take aboard Mr. Farwell, and then wheel round to Canon Allyn's for Dorothy.