The Boy was smiling, but his eyes looked grave.  “If when the Fairy Prince has vanished—­that is, if he should—­you want to see him really badly, try rubbing the ring.  It might work.  But you’ll probably lose the ring before that—­and the memory.”

I answered by hooking the ring, which was far too small for the least of my fingers, into the spring-loop which held my watch on its chain.

“My watch and I are one,” I said.  “Only burglary or death can separate me from the ring now; and if I’m smashed next time Jack Winston lets me drive his motor car, there will probably be a romantic little paragraph in the papers—­perhaps even a pathetic verse—­about the ring on the dead man’s watch-chain, which will give you every satisfaction.”

“The boat’s whistling,” said the Boy.  “We’d better run, if we want to see the Abbey of Hautecombe before lunch.”

We did run, and caught the boat in that uncertain and exciting manner which brings into play a physical appurtenance unrecognised by science, i.e., the skin of the teeth.  Under the awning which shaded the deck, we took the only two seats not occupied by an abnormally large German family,—­abnormally large individually as well as collectively,—­and settled ourselves for half an hour’s enjoyment of a charming water-panorama.

“What a heavenly place Aix is!” exclaimed the Boy fervently.  “I’m so glad I came.”

“I thought yesterday that you were disappointed in the place.”

“Oh, yesterday was yesterday.  To-day’s to-day.  How glorious everything is, in the world.  I do love living.  And I like everybody so much.  What nice, good creatures one’s fellow beings are.  My heart warms to them.  I don’t believe anybody’s really horrid, through and through.  I should like to pat somebody on the shoulder.”

“Queer thing; I feel exactly the same way this morning,” said I.  “Shall we throw ourselves on one another’s bosom, and kiss each other on both cheeks, German fashion, to show our good will towards all mankind?  I’m sure our travelling companions would warmly sympathize with our schwaermerei.”

“No-o, perhaps we’d better not risk setting them the example, for fear they should follow it.”

“Then let’s shake hands.”

He put out his little slim brown paw, and I seized it with such heartiness that he visibly winced, but not a squeak did the pain draw from him; and the large Germans, looking on gravely, no doubt thought that, according to some queer English rite, we had registered an important vow.

Really the world was a nice place that day, though I might not have noticed it so much if the Boy and I had been still at loggerheads.

Yesterday, as we entered Aix, I had said to myself that the mountains surrounding the town had descended to depths of dumpy ugliness unworthy the name and dignity of mountains.  I had formulated the idea that there should be world landscape-gardeners appointed, to work on a grand scale, and alter hills or mountains which Nature had neglected or bungled.  But to-day, as we steamed down the long, narrow Lac de Bourget, sitting shoulder to shoulder, the light breeze fluttering butterfly-wings against our faces, I could not see that there was anything for the most fastidious taste to alter, anywhere.