“Well, it's in Bavaria; I wonder that it isn't better known. But funnily enough the people that were with me at the time didn't like it; it was only afterwards, when I showed them the photograph that they saw that there might have been . . . aren't people funny?” she ended abruptly, appealing to him with a kind of freemasonry against the world.
But, still bending his brows upon it he said insistently—“Tell me more about it—the place—everything—”
“There isn't really anything to tell; it's only a very ordinary, very beautiful, little German town. There are many orchards and this forest at the back of it and the river running through it—little cobbled streets and bridges over the river. And then, outside, this great statue on the hill—”
“Ah, but it's wonderful, that man's face—I'd like to go to that town—” He felt perhaps that he was taking it all too seriously for he turned round and said laughing: “The boy's daft on lions—Robin, come and look at this lion—here's an animal for you.”
The boy put down the Toby and walked slowly and solemnly toward them. He climbed on to Peter's knee and looked at the photograph: “Oh! it is a lion!” he said at last, rubbing his fat finger on the surface of it to see of what material it was made. “Oh! for me!” he said at last in a shrill, excited voice and clutching on to it with one hand. “For me—to hang over my bed.”
“No, old man,” Peter answered, “it belongs to the lady here. She must take it away with her.”
“Oh! but I want it!” his eyes began to fill with tears.
Miss Rossiter bent down and kissed him. He looked at her distrustfully. “I know now I'm not to have it,” he said at last, eyeing her, “or you wouldn't have kissed me.”
“Come on,” said Peter, afraid of a scene, “the lady will show you the lion another day—meantime I think bed is the thing.”
He mounted the boy on to his shoulder and turned round to Miss Rossiter to say “Good-bye.” The photograph lay on the table between them—“I shan't forget that,” he said.
