As Rikli listened to the conversation which followed, and learned how many things her brother and sister were in doubt about,—­as to their behavior in Mrs. Stanhope’s house, and what they should say and do there, and what they could not,—­she made up her mind that it was far better for her to stay quietly at home with her mother and aunty; and the prospect of walks and drives with them, and of the biggest share of all the cherry and apple cakes, seemed more attractive than the very doubtful circumstances in which the others would be placed.  So Rikli became quite reconciled to her lot, and was in good-humor again.

Oscar had meantime led his aunt into an unused bedroom on the ground floor, and, having locked the door for farther security from interruption, he announced that he had something very important to consult her about.  He had been all winter hunting for suitable mottoes for his new banner, and had pressed so many friends into the service, that he had collected no fewer than thirty-five beautiful mottoes, any one of which would have been perfectly satisfactory.  From such wealth it seemed impossible to choose, yet some choice must be made.  One banner would hold only one motto, and even Oscar, with all his enthusiasm, could scarcely hope to have thirty-five banners for the sake of using them all.  Aunty must help him decide, and already before this last afternoon they had had at least a dozen consultations on the subject, in which they had gradually succeeded in reducing the number of candidates to three.  And now the final selection must be made, and Oscar and his aunt could not agree upon it.  His aunt wanted him to make his own choice, but he was not willing to decide against her opinion; yet he could not give up his own; he hoped by farther argument to bring her over to his side.

“Now, aunty,” he said, when the door was safely locked, “we must settle this about the motto.  I will repeat them all three over again, and you really must choose.  First I’ll say the one you like best:—­

    “’Drums beat and banners fly
      Our Festival to grace;
    Long live all men, we cry;
      But guests we forward place.’

“Now that’s a good motto, aunty, but you see I can’t pack the drum, and so it won’t suit very well to say ’drums beat,’—­will it?”

“There must be plenty of drums there, and perhaps Fani has one,” said his aunt.  “And I’m sure the motto is a very good one.  However, let me hear the second.  I’ve forgotten just how it goes.”

    “’Come to our Festival! come all! 
      Come from Switzerland! 
    Conductor, let your tickets fall! 
      And, fireman, stay your hand! 
    You who make boots, or who brew beer,
    You one and all are welcome here.’

“Don’t you think that is, after all, better than the other, aunty?”

“Yes, it is certainly very good, but it is too long.  It would take Elsli such a time to embroider it.”