"Not sugar nippers, ma'am, I beg; or your large work-box, or the mincing machine! Quite useless on a long journey; and your best cap you won't want, I assure you."
"I thought I might perhaps wait a moment in the ante-room and put it on before entering the presence of Royalty," bleated the Goat-mother. "But no doubt you know best."
The luggage was at last reduced to a small leather handbag; and the Goat-mother, after solemnly bestowing her blessing on Lizbet and Lénora, and the door-key on the Stein-bok, set off down the garden path with her children, upon their adventures.
CHAPTER III.
Meanwhile, the Goat-father was languishing in a dark shed attached to the Inn on the other side of the Glacier. His bleats had failed to attract any attention. In fact the only person who had heard him at all, had been an old Goat-slave, who while browsing on the hillside with a bell round his neck, had been attracted by the cries, and creeping up to the shed, peeped through a crack to see what could be the matter.
"Is there anyone near?" enquired the Goat-father in a whisper.
"No. There's a party in the Inn, but they are too busy eating to take any notice of us. I am just loitering here, in case there should be any pieces of sandwich paper flying about."
"Is there any chance of my making my escape?" enquired the Heif-father. "Are they very watchful people?"
"Excessively so," replied the old Slave. "I've never been able to get away for the last ten years."