"I'm sure I didn't," said old Mr. King, carelessly, "and I'm free to
confess I'm honestly glad of it. For if there is one thing I detest
more than another, Polly, my girl, it is to hear people, especially
women, rave and gush over the scenery."

"Oh, she didn't rave and gush," cried Polly, in a whisper, afraid that
the lady heard. "She said, Grandpapa, that Herr Bauricke is at Lucerne;
just think, Grandpapa, the great Herr Bauricke!"

She took her mouth away from the old gentleman's ear in order to look
in his face.

"Polly, Polly," called Jasper from his seat on the farther end, "you
are losing all this," as the train rounded a curve. "Do come back."

"Now, I'm glad of that," exclaimed Grandpapa, in a tone of the greatest
satisfaction, "for I can ask him about the music masters in Dresden and
get his advice, and be all prepared before we go there for the winter
to secure the very best."

"And I can see him, and perhaps hear him play," breathed Polly, in an
awestruck tone, quite lost to scenery and everything else. Jasper
leaned forward and stared at her in amazement. Then he slipped out of
his seat, and made his way up to them to find out what it was all
about.

"How did she know?" he asked, as Polly told all she knew; "I'm just
going to ask her." But the lady, who had caught snatches of the
conversation, though she hadn't heard Mr. King's part of it, very
obligingly leaned forward in her seat and told all she knew.