Story-books were so stupid, always stopping at the point where
they became really nice; but this picture-story was only in its
first chapters, and at last I was to have a chance of knowing
HOW people lived happily ever after. We would all go home
together, He and She, and the angels, and I; and the armour-man
would be invited to come and stay. And then the story would
really begin, at the point where those other ones always
left off. I turned the page, and found myself free of the dim
and splendid church and once more in the open country.

This was all right; this was just as it should be. The sky was a
fleckless blue, the flags danced in the breeze, and our merry
bridal party, with jest and laughter, jogged down to the water-
side. I was through the town by this time, and out on the other
side of the hill, where I had always wanted to be; and, sure
enough, there was the harbour, all thick with curly ships. Most
of them were piled high with wedding-presents--bales of silk, and
gold and silver plate, and comfortable-looking bags suggesting
bullion; and the gayest ship of all lay close up to the carpeted
landing-stage. Already the bride was stepping daintily down the
gangway, her ladies following primly, one by one; a few minutes
more and we should all be aboard, the hawsers would splash
in the water, the sails would fill and strain. From the deck I
should see the little walled town recede and sink and grow dim,
while every plunge of our bows brought us nearer to the happy
island--it was an island we were bound for, I knew well! Already
I could see the island-people waving hands on the crowded quay,
whence the little houses ran up the hill to the castle, crowning
all with its towers and battlements. Once more we should ride
together, a merry procession, clattering up the steep street and