“Sure;” and forthwith Marie-Celeste sailed away on the wings of a marvellous story. It had been a wonderful week, that first week at Windsor, and Marie-Celeste had tried to see it all with two pairs of eyes; for born little Englishman though Donald probably was, it had been only since he had actually come to Windsor that he knew anything whatever about it. Coming out in the train from London, the beautiful castle had first flashed upon our little party, through the perfect arch of the frequent English rainbow, and Donald had straightway asked, “Oh, what is that?” and Marie-Celeste had straightway replied, “Why, Donald, of course that's the castle!”