ones on their morning tour. The boy couldn't comprehend the reason for
the delay, but he figured it out in this way, that the wild geese did
not care to send the goosey-gander on such a long journey until they had
both eaten their fill. Come what might, he was only glad for every
moment that should pass before he must face his parents.

The wild geese travelled over Övid's Cloister estate which was situated
in a beautiful park east of the lake, and looked very imposing with its
great castle; its well planned court surrounded by low walls and
pavilions; its fine old-time garden with covered arbours, streams and
fountains; its wonderful trees, trimmed bushes, and its evenly mown
lawns with their beds of beautiful spring flowers.

When the wild geese rode over the estate in the early morning hour there
was no human being about. When they had carefully assured themselves of
this, they lowered themselves toward the dog kennel, and shouted: "What
kind of a little hut is this? What kind of a little hut is this?"

Instantly the dog came out of his kennel--furiously angry--and barked at
the air.

"Do you call this a hut, you tramps! Can't you see that this is a great
stone castle? Can't you see what fine terraces, and what a lot of pretty
walls and windows and great doors it has, bow, wow, wow, wow? Don't you
see the grounds, can't you see the garden, can't you see the
conservatories, can't you see the marble statues? You call this a hut,
do you? Do huts have parks with beech-groves and hazel-bushes and
trailing vines and oak trees and firs and hunting-grounds filled with
game, wow, wow, wow? Do you call this a hut? Have you seen huts with so
many outhouses around them that they look like a whole village? You must