But the best that was yet to come was something of a highly exclusive and highly privileged order--something in which even Mr. Harris could have no part. From the moment that Albert had climbed into the phaeton at his own door he had held a small square envelope firmly in one hand. Mr. Harris had advised him to put it in his pocket or to consign it to him for safer keeping but to no avail. Albert considered the grip of his own right hand the safest place by far for the valuable little square of cardboard, and which was nothing else than the open sesame to the Queen's own garden, called the East Terrace, and to which the general public only occasionally were admitted. Exception, in this instance, had been made for Marie-Celeste and Albert. It had all been managed in some way by Albert's father, Canon Allyn, apropos of Albert's having repeated a remark of Marie-Celeste's, “that she should be happy as a queen herself if just once she could be allowed to walk in that garden.” Whether the powers that rule the entrance to the same came to the conclusion that to a little girl of twelve and a little boy of four the term of general public could not honestly be applied, or whether all rules of procedure and precedence were magnanimously waived in their favor, certain it is that the little card in question bore the incredible inscription: “Admit Master Albert Allyn and his little friend, Miss Marie-Celeste Harris, to the East Terrace between the hours of twelve and three on Thursday. By order of ----------”