are going?"

"To see Cousin Leopold in Tyrol."

"Well, that's a very good guess, and not all wrong, either; but guess again."

"Oh, I can't. It must be splendid, if it's better than visiting Cousin Leopold."

"Well, it is better," continued Herr Müller; "for not only are we going to pass a few days with your Tyrolese relations, but we are going to a farm."

The boy's face fell visibly.

"To a farm!" he exclaimed. "Why, Uncle Hofer has a splendid farm in Tyrol; that won't be very new to me, then."

"It won't!" ejaculated his father, a trifle amused. "You wait and see, my boy. This is not to be a tiny farm of a few acres, creeping up the mountain on one side and jumping off into a ravine on the other. We sha'n't have to tie this farm to boulders to keep it from slipping away from us." And Herr Müller chuckled.

"Then it isn't in the mountains?"

"No, it isn't in the mountains; that is, not in any mountains that are like the Tyrolese mountains. But there will be acres and acres of this farm, and you will be miles away from any one. You will see corn growing, too; you've never seen that in Tyrol, my son."

"No," answered the child. After a few moments' silence, he added: "Will there be any young folks, father?"

"Don't let that trouble you, Ferdinand; where there's an Austrian farm there are many children."

"Hurrah for the farm, then!" shouted Ferdinand, much to the astonishment and amusement of his parents, who were unused to such impulsive outbursts. But Ferdinand Müller was a typical boy, even though he had been reared in the heart of the city of Vienna, where the apartment houses stand shoulder to shoulder, and back to back, with no room for play-yards or gardens, even; the outside windows serving the latter duty, while the school building on week-days, and the public parks on holidays, serve the former. Austrian children are never allowed to play on the street; but, as if to make up to their children for the loss of play-space, the Austrian parents take them, upon every available occasion, to the splendid parks where are provided all sorts of amusements and refreshments at a modest sum.

"Father," asked the lad, after a few moments' silence, during which he had sat thinking quietly, "when shall we start?"

"Saturday morning, my son. I believe your mother has everything in readiness, nicht war, meine liebe Frau?" he asked, as he glanced over his paper at his wife.

"Oh, mother, do say you are ready," pleaded the child, who, for all his twelve years, and his finely developed body, was yet a boy, and impulsive.

"Yes, I'm all ready," she replied.

And, for the rest of the evening, silence descended upon the boy, his small brain being filled with visions of the coming pleasure.

When Herr Müller returned to his home the following evening, he found a letter, postmarked "Linz," awaiting him.

"Hello," he said, half aloud, "here's word from our friend Herr Runkel. Wonder if there's anything happened to upset our plans?"

"Oh, father, please don't say it," pleaded the boy; "I shall be so disappointed."

"Well, cheer up," replied his father, "there's better news than you thought for. We shall leave on Saturday morning as planned; but to-morrow Herr Runkel's sister from the convent will come to us. He asks us to take charge of her, as the Sisters find it very inconvenient this year to send an escort with her; and, as we are coming up in a day or two, perhaps we would not mind the extra trouble."

"Oh, father, won't it be fine! How old is she?"

"I believe about your age."

Friday morning Frau Müller and Ferdinand jumped into a fiaker and drove to the railroad station to meet Teresa Runkel. She was a fine-looking child, with round, rosy cheeks; quite tall, with the fair complexion, sunny hair, and soft, Austrian blue eyes that makes the women of that land famed for their beauty. She was overjoyed at this unexpected pleasure of spending a day or two in the city of Vienna, which she had never seen, although she had passed through several times on her way to and from the convent. She enjoyed the brisk drive to the tall apartment house in the Schwanengasse, and she fairly bubbled with chatter.

"After luncheon, my dear," observed Frau Müller, "we shall have Herr Müller take you about our city; for Vienna is vastly different from Linz."

Herr Müller joined the party at luncheon at eleven o'clock, which was really the breakfast hour, because Austrian families take only coffee and cakes or rolls in the early morning, eating their hearty breakfast toward the middle of the day, after which they rest for an hour or two, before beginning their afternoon duties.

At two o'clock the three were ready for the walk, for Frau Müller was not to accompany them. Joseph, the portier, an important personage in Viennese life, nodded "A-b-e-n-d" to them, as they passed out the front door of the building, over which he presided as a sort of turnkey. No one may pass in or out without encountering the wary eye of Joseph, who must answer to the police for the inmates of the building, as also for the visitors. And this is a curious custom, not only in Vienna, but other European cities, that immediately upon one's arrival at an hotel, or even a private home, the police are notified, unawares to the visitor, of his movements and his object in being in the city, which reduces chances of crime to a minimum; burglary being almost unknown, picking pockets on the open streets taking its place in most part.

"Of course you know, children," said Herr Müller, as they passed along the broad Kärtnerstrasse, where are the finest shops of Vienna, "you've been taught in school the history of our city, so I need not tell you that."

"Oh, but please do, father," said Ferdinand. "Teresa may not know it as well as I do,"—he hesitated, for he noticed the hurt look in the girl's eyes, and added—"although she may know a lot more about other things."

"Well," began the father, "away back in the times before Christ, a body of rough men came from the northern part of France and the surrounding countries. They were called Celts. They were constantly roving; and so it chanced they came to this very spot where we now are, and founded a village which they called Vindobona. But about fourteen years after Christ, the Romans worked their way northward; they saw the village of the Celts and captured it. They built a great wall about it, placed a moat outside of these fortifications and settled down to retain their conquest. They built a forum, which was a public square where all the business of the city was transacted; and, on one side, they placed their camp or praetorium. To-day, we call the Roman forum the Hohermarkt, just here where we stand now," continued Herr Müller, "and here, where the Greek banker Sina has built this fine palace, stood the Roman praetorium; while here, you see the street is named for Marcus Aurelius, the Roman emperor who was born in Spain and died in this city so many hundreds of years ago."

"I've heard that ever so many times, father," said Ferdinand, "but I never realized it before; somehow it seems as if I could almost see the Celts driven out and the great wall and moat of the Romans."

Meanwhile they had walked on, down the Bauermarkt and reached the St. Stephanienplatz, with St. Stephan's Church in the middle.

ST.