The next day Mr. Fabian conducted his girls to various cathedrals and famous buildings in the city, and that night they returned to the hotel to find little Mr. Alexander standing in front of it waiting for them.

“I’ve got turrible news for you-all,” said he in a most lugubrious tone. His face expressed the greatest sorrow and concern.

“My goodness, Pa! What’s the matter?” cried Dodo, anxiously.

“It’s worse than you-all can reckon, so I’ll tell you. This afternoon when I come back from a little joy-ride, I saw a dandy little car out here, but when I took a good squint at it I saw it were a Packard Roadster. At that, my legs began to shake and I feared Maggie might have come over, in spite of my wire to her.

“And then, before I could get courage to go indoors, I heard her voice. I tried to hide behind that big pillar, there, but no use! So, Dodo, your Ma’s here and is in the parlor talking to Count Chalmys.”

As everyone had expected to hear dire news, the relief upon hearing that Mrs. Alexander had arrived was so great that it caused a general laugh. Nancy Fabian turned and asked of the little millionaire: “How did your wife meet the Count?”

“Oh, I figgered that she would be so glad to know a real live Count, that I saved my own head that way. She won’t remember my misdeeds now,” softly laughed Mr. Alexander.

When the exchange of effusive greetings on the part of Mrs. Alexander, and the quiet welcome from the other Americans, had subsided, she remembered something to tell Dodo, that concerned her deeply.

“What do you think, Dodo? About those Osgoods?”

“How should I know, Ma. Your tone indicates that you are not very well pleased with them, whatever it is,” replied Dodo.

“I should say not! Why, I found out that the title of ‘Sir’ and ‘Lady’ does not mean anything in their family. Jimmy can’t inherit the honor, either. His father got it because he did something unusual with a factory that made munitions when the war first broke out. It wasn’t an entailed title at all, and it stops with this Osgood. Dear me! When I think of it—you might have had to marry just a plain James Osgood, after all!”

“Oh no, I wouldn’t, Ma. I said from the first, that I never would marry anyone I didn’t like. And it would take an American to do that,” declared Dodo.

“What happened when you learned about the title, Maggie?” asked Mr. Alexander, unusually gay over the information.

“Why, I just told Jimmy Osgood that I wouldn’t take him to Paris in my new car, if that was the case. I think they might have told me how such matters were conducted in England, then I might have spared all my time in planning as I did.” Mrs. Alexander’s voice plainly expressed the disapproval she felt at keeping her in ignorance of the methods of Burke.

Her hearers managed to keep straight faces, however, and waited until the Count said good-day. Then they all went upstairs to plan about the tour in Europe.

“I invited Count Chalmys to accept the empty seat beside me in my new roadster,” ventured Mrs. Alexander.

“You did!” gasped Dodo, unbelievingly.

“But he refused, didn’t he?” said Nancy, confidently.

“Oh no! he said he’d be delighted. He planned to go home to his castle, soon, and he said you-all were going to visit him there; so he felt he might accept my invitation to tour with me, as long as we were to be all in one party,” explained Mrs. Alexander, greatly pleased with the outcome of her meeting with the Count.

Dodo groaned, and her friends smiled in sympathy, for they understood the reason of Mrs. Alexander’s sudden interest in an Italian Count.

“When do you propose to start on this tour?” asked the lady, after a few moments of silence.

“Right away—tomorrow!” declared Dodo, angrily.

“Oh! surely not before we buy some nice gowns and things to wear?” cried her mother, tragically.

“Yes, at once! I don’t want any new clothes!” snapped Dodo.

“But, my child! What about that trooso chest. It ought to be filled, you know, to be ready to send home,” reminded the mother.

“Oh, I gave that chest away for a birthday gift,” said Dodo, indifferently.

“Gave it away! Why—what for?” gasped Mrs. Alexander.

“I didn’t want it, and it was my very own—you said so.”

As that was true, nothing more was said about the chest, at the time, but nothing could stop Mrs. Alexander from planning and scheming about her daughter’s future. As the other girls and Mrs. Fabian said nothing about shopping, but preferred waiting until they returned to Paris again, it was decided that they would start on the trip the following day. That evening was devoted to studying a road-map and selecting an itinerary.

Mr. Alexander had but one desire in the matter, and that began and ended with the first lap of the drive. “I want to see the war-zone, where our boys fit them Germans. I hear ’em tell in the hotel lobby, that the roads are fair all through them battle fields like Verdun, on the Somme, and others. So I want to drive there, and then, afterwards, you can do what you-all like on this tour with me as chauffeur.”

“Oh, we all want to pass through those famous places, too, so that is settled,” exclaimed Nancy Fabian, glancing at her friends for approval of this plan.

“All right. Put that down on your paper, Professor,” advised Mr. Alexander; then he leaned back and sighed as if he had done all that was expected of him.

After several hours of planning and writing, the route was mapped out, and the group felt that it was as good as any ever made by a number of tourists.

It was noon the next day before the party really started on its way, as the Count failed to appear on time, and an hour was lost in trying to get him on a telephone. When he did appear, he had a gorgeous bouquet of hothouse flowers for Mrs. Alexander, and a huge box of bon-bons for the girls.

That afternoon they drove over the famous sector where millions fought and fell for a Principle, in the greatest mortal combat the world has ever witnessed. After seeing the ruins the war made of Verdun, as well as of other villages, Mr. Alexander drove to Reims. Here they found quarters for the night, and waited to visit the cathedral in the morning.

From Reims they went through St. Quentin, and on to Boulogne. That night they stopped at a quaint inn in Normandy. The ancient hostelry was but two stories high, with upper windows overlooking a wonderful garden. The high stone wall that enclosed this garden had niches, every so often, in the thick wall.

Mr. Fabian spoke excellent French, and the other members in the party understood everything that was said, so all enjoyed the conversation that now took place.

“Have you been owner of this Inn very long?” asked Mr. Fabian, courteously.

“All my life, and my father and grandfather before me,” was the unexpected reply.

“Then you can tell me if this is an old house, or only modelled after the old style.”

“Ah!” breathed the old man, softly. “It ees so old that my grandfather knew not when it was built. It ees the gate-house of a convent that formerly was famous. When it was abandoned, because of the Order being abolished by law, my grandfather was left to supervise the work.

“He bought the property when it was sold, and since then his descendants have lived here. With the old stone gate-house this garden patch was included, but all the other buildings were razed and the land sold.”

“How interesting,” remarked Mr. Fabian. “Then that old garden was really part of the original convent grounds?”

“Yes, and those niches you see in the wall held statues and holy figures at one time. Some of them were carved by well-known men about here. I found several of them buried in the garden when I turned up the soil for my father. I was but a boy, then, and I remember he took them away and put them in the attic.”

The old host then showed the guests to their various rooms and left them to wash and dress for the evening meal. Polly stood gazing from her window for a time, picturing the life of past days in that garden, when Eleanor exclaimed suddenly and called to her.

“Just look at this heavy walnut bed. It has the most marvellous carvings on its head and foot boards.”

After examining the figures carved on the wood, Polly went to the toilet-stand and poured some water from a heavy ewer into the stoneware basin. As she was about to place the ewer on the tiled floor beside the stand, she saw the carved panels that formed the sides of the stand.

“Nolla! Do help me move this heavy stand out to the light—I verily believe it is an antique!” cried she.

Having satisfied themselves that the panels were genuine old pieces, they ran to Mr. Fabian’s room and called him forth. He examined the stand and the bed, and some of the old stoneware pieces in the room, and sighed. “We’ve stumbled over a veritable Mecca of antiques, girls,” said he.

That night after supper, Mr. Fabian led the host to tell of how he acquired the pieces of furniture. And the result of that talk was the purchase of the stand, the bed, and many smaller pieces of stoneware and odd furnishings that had been replevined from the convent building, generations before. Even the few statues that had been stored in the low attic of the Inn were sold to the Americans; and the old couple were made happy at the knowledge that, at last, they were provided for in old age, through the sale of the objects that they could readily do without.

The Count was made supremely happy with the purchase of a holy picture which he declared was from the brush of an old master. And Mrs. Alexander smiled contentedly because the Count was so kind and chivalrous to her.

A group of humble peasants gathered, the following morning, to wish the tourists God-speed, for the entire village had heard of the good fortune that had come to their old friends at the Inn. When a few furlongs farther on from the Inn, Mr. Fabian read a sign that said “To Abbeville,” he said aloud, “Well, of all things! We stopped at that famous old convent spot and never knew it, until this minute.”

From Boulogne, where they wired Mr. Ashby about the bed and other articles they had secured, they drove to Ostend. Thence to Bruges, where Mr. Fabian showed the girls the famous Belfry that is three hundred and fifty feet high. The quaint irregular houses in the streets of the town were duly admired and snapshots taken of them by Dodo; then the two cars started for Antwerp.

Along the road, and in the villages they passed through, most of the peasants wore wooden shoes. One woman was seen driving a tiny milk-cart that was drawn by a large dog. The tourists stopped for a drink of the rich milk, and Mrs. Fabian noticed the bit of priceless Flemish lace pinned upon the peasant’s head.

“How much do you want for that piece of lace, my good woman?” asked she, eagerly.

But the woman shook her head and smiled, saying: “My family lace. Gran’mudder make it.”

Antwerp still displayed the scars left by the German occupation, so the tourists decided not to tarry there very long.

“When I see these things, I feel like I want to war all over again,” exclaimed Mr. Alexander.

Late that night they entered Rotterdam, and there found a fine Inn and a hearty dinner awaiting them. Having replenished the inner being, they started out to see the town by night.

“I don’t see much use in remaining for a day in Rotterdam, girls,” remarked Mr. Fabian. “There isn’t much of interest to us, here, and I don’t believe we can pick up any ‘old bits’ in the city. Bargains in antiques are more readily found in the country places.”

So, late the following morning, they started for Delft; along the road Mr. Fabian stopped several times and secured a few fine pieces of old Delftware.

The tourists remained at The Hague that night. It was a quaint, beautiful old place founded in the year 1250. The artistic-roofed houses, the funny dormer windows, the varied and picture-like gables of the buildings which were placed irregularly on either side of the narrow crooked streets, provided interesting scenes that the girls eagerly captured in the camera.

At an antique shop, on a side street not much wider than a country-lane, the girls found several old door-knockers with the ancient dates stamped in the metal. A great massive lock and key were bought by Mr. Fabian, and Dodo got an iron lantern.

Leaving The Hague, the cars drove along beautiful country roads, with low white-washed cottages having green wooden shutters at the windows, standing prim and pure beside the way. Everything was so clean and neat, though the owners seemed poor, that it was remarked by the girls.

“When you compare these peasants and their spotless homes, to the filth and shiftlessness of the peasants in Ireland, you cannot help but wonder what causes the vast difference in living,” said Polly.

“It is not poverty alone that does this, Polly,” said Mrs. Fabian. “One must go way back and seek deep for the causation of such conditions.”

The girls did not understand what she meant, then, but they could not help but remember her words later, when they began to question political and national problems. Then they understood.

At Leyden Mr. Fabian showed the girls the university that is erected on the ground where the Pilgrims landed after their flight from England, and before their historic sailing for America. And at Haarlem, the two girls Polly and Eleanor, bought a lot of healthy bulbs to be sent home for planting in the Spring. As Haarlem is the center of the bulb-growing industry of Holland, it displayed more tulips to the square foot, than the girls had ever thought it possible to grow.

That evening the two cars entered Amsterdam. The hotel was good, and the stop-over most welcome, for the autoists were tired of the continuous ride for several days, resting only at night.

The Count managed to get in telephonic connection with Paris, that night, and immediately afterwards, he seemed ill at ease. So much so, that he finally left the others and they saw him no more that evening. Mrs. Alexander showed her disappointment at this unexpected action of her charming Count and refused to be condoled by anyone else.

At breakfast in the morning, Count Chalmys announced his unexpected desertion of the touring party. “I find I have to fly at once to my domain in Northern Italy, my dear friends. A most unexpected business affair there demands my presence. Ah, such is the tormented life of a land-owner. He can never enjoy freedom, but must always be at the beck and call of others.”

“Good gracious, Count! Won’t you join us again, as soon as you settle this business in Italy?” asked Mrs. Alexander, anxiously.

“I trust I may, dear lady. But you must surely visit me at my palace, when you tour Italy,” returned the gallant Count. Then he gave minute directions to Mr. Fabian how they might reach his estates.

After Count Chalmys had gone the tourists had Mrs. Alexander to entertain; before this she had devoted her entire time to the Count as he was her guest in the small car. Now she insisted upon the girls taking turns to ride in her car, and this proved to be unappreciated by the three who wished to be with Mr. Fabian in order to hear his opinions on the places they passed. Finally Nancy offered to devote her attention to Dodo’s mother until they could discover a new “title” to occupy her heart and mind and roadster.

While in Amsterdam they visited an old-fashioned coffee-shop with living-quarters back of it. When Mr. Fabian explained to the good woman who served, that his girls were decorators from America, and they wished to see the tiles he had heard of in her living-room, she smiled graciously and led the way to the rear rooms.

“Oh Nolla! Look at the funny little ladders one has to climb to reach the beds!” cried Polly, laughingly, as she pointed out the built-in beds about five feet above the floor.

“I should think they’d smother—all shut up back of those curtains, at night,” remarked Dodo.

“And not a bit of ventilation that can get in any other way,” added Eleanor.

The hostess comprehended something of what was said, and she laughingly shrugged her plump shoulders and pointed to her two “younkers” who were as fat and rosy as Baldwin apples. Mr. Fabian was admiring the wonderful dado of tiles, that ran about the room from the floor to a height of four feet. Each tile presented a scene of Holland, and they were so set that a white tile alternated with a Delft blue one, making the whole pattern very effective. The windows were placed above the dado, thus being four feet above the floor. But instead of high narrow windows, they were square, or low and long, and opened in casement style.

While Mr. Fabian was conversing with the woman about old tiles and Dutch furniture, Polly spied a corner cupboard. She beckoned Eleanor over to it, and the two immediately began examining the old blue ware in the china-closet.

Dodo heard them and hurried over, and that drew Mr. Fabian’s attention to them, also. His hostess smiled, and led him across the large room to the cupboard.

Before the collectors left that room, they had acquired some fine old Delft pieces, and Mr. Fabian hugged an antique jug that he was not sure of, but its markings would prove its great age as soon as he could trace it, he was sure.

Mr. Alexander, who had been almost ignored during the past few days, excepting at night when they stopped at different towns for rest, now said: “Would you like to reach Cologne tonight? I figger we can do it easily, onless you want to stop anywhere?”

“The only place I want to stop and give the girls a peep into a porcelain factory, is at Bonn. But that is on the other side of Cologne; so let her go, if you like,” returned Mr. Fabian.

The roads, however, were too bad for speeding, and they had to be content with reaching Arnheim for the night. The next day they reached Cologne, but drove on to Bonn, as Mr. Fabian had planned. In the afternoon they reached Coblentz where the great Byzantine Cathedral was visited and pictures taken of it. The next day, on the trip southward, along the Rhine, were many picturesque castles and fortresses which made splendid scenes for the camera.

Mr. Fabian wished to conduct the girls from Frankfort to NÜrnberg, a famous old mediaeval city with unique houses still to be seen, although they were built hundreds of years ago. But the girls had no desire to visit any German cities, they said.

“But it is a famous place,” argued Mr. Fabian. “It was the very first town in Germany to embrace Christianity.”

“Maybe so, but later, they clearly demonstrated to the world that they never understood the fundamentals of Christianity,” retorted Eleanor.

“Well aside from that, NÜrnberg is the place where white paper was first invented,” continued Mr. Fabian.

“I’ve heard said that an American invented white paper and the German who put up the money for the experiment, stole the formulae,” declared Polly.

“I never heard that, but surely you can’t contradict me when I say that sulphur matches first came to life there. They are a great convenience in the home and save us a lot of trouble; and the Germans discovered that use for sulphur,” continued Mr. Fabian.

“Maybe the world has now discovered that the Germans might have saved us a lot of trouble if they had used the sulphur for self-extinction purposes,” snapped Eleanor, who was a partisan for the Allies.

Her companions refused to laugh at her remark although they wanted to; but Polly, who was more lenient to an enemy, said: “I never can understand how it is that the Germans always invent such wonderful things.”

“Yes, Prof., especially as we Yanks are just as brainy and capable; yet you seldom hear of an American inventing such things,” added Dodo.

“Oh yes, we do, Dodo,” returned Mr. Fabian. “But the German nation push a thing with national zeal and make money out of the world, for themselves. America generally keeps quiet about her patents and uses them for her own benefit.”

“But there is a deeper causation for all this material inventiveness, too,” added Mrs. Fabian. “We must never lose sight of the fact that America is the cradle of Freedom where Eternal Truth lifted its banner. Whereas Germany brought forth only the material emblems of brain and earthly power, the New World has brought forth the Hope of Heaven—freedom in every sense of the word.”