"That I always sympathise!" yelled the Chancellor, the first moment

there was silence. "But your true friend is the Sub-Warden!
Day and night he is brooding on your wrongs--I should say your rights--

that is to say your wrongs--no, I mean your rights--"
("Don't talk no more!" growled the man under the window.

"You're making a mess of it!") At this moment the Sub-Warden entered
the saloon. He was a thin man, with a mean and crafty face, and a

greenish-yellow complexion; and he crossed the room very slowly,
looking suspiciously about him as if be thought there might be a

savage dog hidden somewhere. "Bravo!" he cried, patting the Chancellor
on the back. "You did that speech very well indeed.

Why, you're a born orator, man!"
"Oh, that's nothing! the Chancellor replied, modestly, with downcast

eyes. "Most orators are born, you know."
The Sub-Warden thoughtfully rubbed his chin. "Why, so they are!" he

admitted. "I never considered it in that light. Still, you did it very
well. A word in your ear!"

The rest of their conversation was all in whispers: so, as I could hear
no more, I thought I would go and find Bruno.

I found the little fellow standing in the passage, and being addressed
by one of the men in livery, who stood before him, nearly bent double

from extremerespectfulness, with his hands hanging in front of him
like the fins of a fish. "His High Excellency," this respectful man was

saying, "is in his Study, y'reince!" (He didn't pronounce this quite so
well as the Chancellor.) Thither Bruno trotted, and I thought it well

to follow him.
The Warden, a tall dignified man with a grave but very pleasant face,

was seated before a writing-table, which was covered with papers, and
holding on his knee one of the sweetest and loveliest little maidens it

has ever been my lot to see. She looked four or five years older than
Bruno, but she had the same rosy cheeks and sparkling eyes, and the

same wealth of curly brown hair. Her eager smiling face was turned
upwards towards her father's, and it was a pretty sight to see the

mutual love with which the two faces--one in the Spring of Life,
the other in its late Autumn--were gazing on each other.

"No, you've never seen him," the old man was saying: "you couldn't,
you know, he's been away so long--traveling from land to land,

and seeking for health, more years than you've been alive, little Sylvie!"
Here Bruno climbed upon his other knee, and a good deal of kissing,

on a rather complicatedsystem, was the result.
"He only came back last night," said the Warden, when the kissing was

over: "he's been traveling post-haste, for the last thousand miles or
so, in order to be here on Sylvie's birthday. But he's a very early

riser, and I dare say he's in the Library already. Come with me and see
him. He's always kind to children. You'll be sure to like him."

"Has the Other Professor come too?" Bruno asked in an awe-struck voice.
"Yes, they arrived together. The Other Professor is--well, you won't

like him quite so much, perhaps. He's a little more dreamy, you know."
"I wiss Sylvie was a little more dreamy," said Bruno.

"What do you mean, Bruno?" said Sylvie.
Bruno went on addressing his father. "She says she ca'n't, oo know.

But I thinks it isn't ca'n't, it's wo'n't."
"Says she ca'n't dream!" the puzzled Warden repeated.

"She do say it," Bruno persisted. "When I says to her 'Let's stop
lessons!', she says 'Oh, I ca'n't dream of letting oo stop yet!'"

"He always wants to stop lessons," Sylvie explained, "five minutes
after we begin!"

"Five minutes' lessons a day!" said the Warden. "You won't learn much
at that rate, little man!"

"That's just what Sylvie says," Bruno rejoined. "She says I wo'n't
learn my lessons. And I tells her, over and over, I ca'n't learn 'em.

And what doos oo think she says? She says 'It isn't ca'n't, it's
wo'n't!'"

"Let's go and see the Professor," the Warden said, wisely avoiding
further discussion. The children got down off his knees, each secured a

hand, and the happy trio set off for the Library--followed by me.
I had come to the conclusion by this time that none of the party

(except, for a few moments, the Lord Chancellor) was in the least able
to see me.

"What's the matter with him?" Sylvie asked, walking with a little extra
sedateness, by way of example to Bruno at the other side, who never

ceased jumping up and down.
[Image...Visiting the profesor]

"What was the matter--but I hope he's all right now--was lumbago,
and rheumatism, and that kind of thing. He's been curing himself,

you know: he's a very learned doctor. Why, he's actually invented
three new diseases, besides a new way of breaking your collar-bone!"

"Is it a nice way?" said Bruno.
"Well, hum, not very," the Warden said, as we entered the Library.

"And here is the Professor. Good morning, Professor! Hope you're quite
rested after your journey!"

A jolly-looking, fat little man, in a flowery dressing-gown, with a
large book under each arm, came trotting in at the other end of the

room, and was going straight across without taking any notice of the
children. "I'm looking for Vol. Three," he said.

"Do you happen to have seen it?"
"You don't see my children, Professor!" the Warden exclaimed, taking

him by the shoulders and turning him round to face them.
The Professor laughed violently: then he gazed at them through his

great spectacles, for a minute or two, without speaking.
At last he addressed Bruno. "I hope you have had a good night, my child?"

Bruno looked puzzled. "I's had the same night oo've had," he replied.
"There's only been one night since yesterday!"

It was the Professor's turn to look puzzled now.
He took off his spectacles, and rubbed them with his handkerchief.

Then he gazed at them again. Then he turned to the Warden.
"Are they bound?" he enquired.

"No, we aren't," said Bruno, who thought himself quite able to answer
this question.

The Professor shook his head sadly. "Not even half-bound?"
"Why would we be half-bound?" said Bruno.

"We're not prisoners!"
But the Professor had forgotten all about them by this time, and was

speaking to the Warden again. "You'll be glad to hear," he was saying,
"that the Barometer's beginning to move--"

"Well, which way?" said the Warden--adding, to the children,
"Not that I care, you know. Only he thinks it affects the weather.

He's a wonderfully clever man, you know. Sometimes he says things that
only the Other Professor can understand. Sometimes he says things that

nobody can understand! Which way is it, Professor? Up or down?"
"Neither!" said the Professor, gently clapping his hands. "It's going

sideways--if I may so express myself."
"And what kind of weather does that produce?" said the Warden.

"Listen, children! Now you'll hear something worth knowing!"
"Horizontal weather," said the Professor, and made straight for the

door, very nearly trampling on Bruno, who had only just time to get out
of his way.

"Isn't he learned?" the Warden said, looking after him with admiring
eyes. "Positively he runs over with learning!"

"But he needn't run over me!" said Bruno.
The Professor was back in a moment: he had changed his dressing-gown

for a frock-coat, and had put on a pair of very strange-looking boots,
the tops of which were open umbrellas. "I thought you'd like to see

them," he said. "These are the boots for horizontal weather!"
[Image...Boots for horizontal weather]