go too sometime, he supposed; and, giving a little shrug of his shoulders which set his cradle rocking, fell asleep in the very face of his visitors.  Not so Alba:  this was all news to him,—­grand news.  He was young and inexperienced, and, moreover, full of roving fancies:  so he lifted his head as far as he dared, nodded delightedly as Rubra described the departure, and, when his cousin ceased speaking, asked eagerly, “And what will he do there?”

“Do?” said Rubra, “do?  Why, he will do just what everybody else does who goes on the grand tour.  What a foolish fellow you are, to ask such a question!”

Now, this was no answer at all, as you see plainly; and yet little Alba was quite abashed by it, and dared not push the question further for fear of displaying his ignorance,—­never thinking that we children are not born with our heads full of information on all subjects, and that the only way to fill them is to push our questions until we are utterly satisfied with the answers; and that no one has reason to feel ashamed of ignorance which is not now his own fault, but will soon become so if he hushes his questions for fear of showing it.

Here Alba made his first mistake.  There is only one way to correct a mistake of this kind; and it is so excellent a way, that it even brings you out at the end wiser than the other course could have done.  Alba, I am happy to say, resolved at once on this course.  “If,” said he, “Rubra does not choose to tell me about the grand tour, I will go and see for myself.”  It was a brave resolve for a little fellow like him.  He lost no time in preparing to carry it out; but, on pushing against the gate that led to the underground road, he found that the frost had fastened it securely, and he must wait for a warmer day.  In the mean time, afraid to ask any more questions, he yet kept his ears open to gather any scraps of information that might be useful for his journey.

Listening ears can always hear; and Alba very soon began to learn, from the old trees overhead, from the dry rustling leaves around him, and from the little chipping-birds that chatted together in the sunshine.  Some said the only advantage of the grand tour was to make one a perfect and accomplished gentleman; others, that all the useful arts were taught abroad, and no one who wished to improve the world in which he lived would stay at home another year.  Old grandfather Rubra, standing tall and grand, and stretching his knotty arms, as if to give force to his words, said, “Of all arts, the art of building is the noblest, and that can only be learned by those who take the grand tour; therefore, all my boys have been sent long ago, and already many of my grandsons have followed them.”

Then there was a whisper among the leaves:  “All very well, old Rubra; but did any of your sons or grandsons ever come back from the grand tour?”

There was no answer; indeed, the leaves hadn’t spoken loudly enough for the old gentleman to hear, for he was known to have a fiery temper, and it was scarcely safe to offend him.  But the little brown chipping-birds said, one to another, “No, no, no, they never came back! they never came back!”