for home. At all events he could write to her, and tearing a page out of
his little sketch-book, he began:


"I am writing in the train, so please forgive this joggly writing--"


Then he did not know how to go on, for all that he wanted to say was
such as he had never even dreamed of writing--things about his feelings
which would look horrible in words; besides, he must not put anything
that might not be read, by anyone, so what was there to say?


"It has been such a long journey," he wrote at last, "away from the
Tyrol;" (he did not dare even to put "from you,") "I thought it would
never end. But at last it has--very nearly. I have thought a great deal
about the Tyrol. It was a lovely time--the loveliest time I have ever
had. And now it's over, I try to console myself by thinking of the
future, but not the immediate future--THAT is not very enjoyable. I
wonder how the mountains are looking to-day. Please give my love
to them, especially the lion ones that come and lie out in the
moonlight--you will not recognize them from this"--then followed a
sketch. "And this is the church we went to, with someone kneeling.
And this is meant for the 'English Grundys,' looking at someone who
is coming in very late with an alpenstock--only, I am better at the
'English Grundys' than at the person with the alpenstock. I wish I were
the 'English Grundys' now, still in the Tyrol. I hope I shall get a
letter from you soon; and that it will say you are getting ready to come
back. My guardian will be awfully keen for you to come and stay with us.
He is not half bad when you know him, and there will be his sister, Mrs.