So was I. I felt certain that they would be successful now.  But far above and beyond the comfort of things “coming right,” and the pleasure of anticipated fun, my heart was rocked to a higher peace.  In my small religious experiences I had never known this triumph, this thankfulness before.  Circumstances, not self-control, had helped me out of previous quarrels; I had never really done battle, and gained a conquest over my besetting sin.  Now, however imperfectly and awkwardly, I yet had fought.  If Philip had been less generous I might have failed, but the effort had been real—­and it had been successful.  Henceforth my soul should fight with the prestige of victory, with the courage that comes of having striven and won, trusted and not been confounded.

The first person we met after we got in was Aunt Isobel.  She had arrived in our absence.  No doubt she had heard the whole affair, but she is very good, and never gauche and she only said—­

“Here come the stage-managers!  Now what can I do to help?  I have had some tea, and am ready to obey orders till the curtain rings up.”

Boys do not carry things off well.  Philip got very red, but I said—­“Oh, please come to the nursery, Aunt Isobel.  There are lots of things to do.”  She came, and was invaluable.  I never said anything about the row to her, and she never said anything to me.  That is what I call a friend!

The first thing Philip did was to unlock the property-box in his room and bring the Dragon and things back.  The second thing he did was to mend the new scene by replacing the bit he had cut out, glueing canvas on behind it, and touching up with paint where it joined.

We soon put straight what had been disarranged.  Blinds were drawn, candles lighted, seats fixed, and the theatre began to look like itself.  Aunt Isobel and I were bringing in the footlights, when we saw Bobby at the extreme right of the stage wrapped in his cloak, and contemplating, with apparent satisfaction, twelve old hats and six pasteboard bandboxes which were spread before him.

“My dear Bobby, what are these?” said Aunt Isobel.  Bobby hastily—­almost stammeringly—­explained,

“I am Twelve Travellers, you know, Aunt Isobel.”

“Dear me!” said Aunt Isobel.

“I’ll show you how I am going to do it,” said Bobby.

“Here are twelve old hats—­I have had such work to collect them!—­and six bandboxes.”

“Only six?” said Aunt Isobel with commendable gravity.

“But there are the lids,” said Bobby; “six of them, and six boxes, make twelve, you know.  I’ve only one cloak, but it’s red on one side and blue on the other, and two kinds of buttons.  Well; I come on left for the First Traveller, with my cloak the red side out, and this white chimney-pot hat.”

“Ah!” said Aunt Isobel.