“I never think about it,” answered George; “for when I get a thing into my head, nothing will turn me, as nurse often says to mother.  I dare say I shall see ‘The Crystal Palace’ in this way, at least, if I can find it out alone.”

“Now, promise me that you will not attempt it,” cried Frank, affectionately; “and I will promise you that you shall go with me, in grandma’s carriage, which will be far more proper, and nice, you know.  Do you not think so?”

“Of course I do,” said George.  “And shall I really go? and will your grandma take me? and shall you fetch me, the first day after go home, do you suppose?”

“No; for the first day will be Sunday,” replied Frank; “and then we never even talk about such things.”

“Well, Monday, then.  Will it be Monday?”

“Monday, perhaps, or Tuesday; for we shall have so much to talk about on Saturday, when I go home, that grandma may not have the time to settle it.  I often wish the holidays began upon a Thursday, or a Friday at the latest, that I might have my chatter out before the Sunday comes.”

“I never thought of such a thing before,” said George.  But the writer fully sympathises with her little friend, and wishes that all pious teachers would profit by his hint.

During the previous conversation, the two boys had been kneeling up, upon a form, with their arms extended on the table, on which “The Illustrated London News” was spread before them.  It was often purchased by their kind schoolmistress for their amusement and instruction.  And greatly did the pictures please them; though, for the present, they profited but little by the printed news.

“Ten more horrid days before this half is over,” said George, peevishly.  “It seems an age.  I count the very hours.  But you think that we are sure to go on Monday, don’t you?”

“Not sure,” said Frank.  “We must not be too sure of anything, my grandma says.”

“Well, then, I dare say I shan’t wait for you,” said the impatient George; “I do hate waiting, above all things.”

“But you must try to be more patient,” said Frank gently.  “Does not your poor mamma say so, to you?”

“Ah! very often; almost every day,” cried George; “but what’s the good of that? for I keep hammering on, for anything I want.  Oh! how I wish the holidays were here just now; I am so wretched!”

“Dear me! and instead of that, I feel so happy,” said dear Frank.  “Ten days will soon be gone, I think, and then—­O then—­Grandma will come, and see my prize, and look so very pleased, and take me home with her!”

CHAPTER II.

And Frank was right, my dear young reader, for the ten days soon passed away, and very pleasurably too, as even George confessed.  There were so many extra sports provided—­a magic lantern, and dissolving views for the last evening, with cakes and crackers, and amusing recitations, and all went very merrily to bed, looking forward to the following day, when they should see their friends and homes once more.