JOHN AND BETTY'S HISTORY VISIT

BY

MARGARET WILLIAMSON

_ILLUSTRATED FROM PHOTOGRAPHS_

BOSTON LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO. 

Published, March, 1910

COPYRIGHT, 1910, BY LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO. 

_All rights reserved_

JOHN AND BETTY'S HISTORY VISIT

Norwood Press

BERWICK & SMITH CO. 

Norwood, Mass. 

U. S. A. 

[Illustration: THEY SUDDENLY SAW THE TREMENDOUS CATHEDRAL LOOMING UPBEFORE THEM. --_Page 70. _]

CONTENTS

 CHAPTER PAGE

 I. FIRST IMPRESSIONS 9

 II. THE FIRST EVENING 15

 III. WESTMINSTER ABBEY 20

 IV. PENSHURST PLACE: THE HOME OF SIR PHILIP SIDNEY 37

 V. THE TOWER OF LONDON 50

 VI. ST. PAUL'S CATHEDRAL AND ITS VICINITY 65

 VII. A SUNDAY NIGHT CHAT 83

 VIII. WINDSOR CASTLE, STOKE POGES, AND ETON SCHOOL 94

 IX. MORE ABOUT LONDON 107

 X. RICHMOND AND HAMPTON COURT PALACE 122

 XI. STRATFORD-ON-AVON 138

 XII. A DAY IN WARWICKSHIRE 161

 XIII. WARWICK AND KENILWORTH CASTLES 181

 XIV. SHERWOOD FOREST AND HADDON HALL 203

 XV. WINCHESTER, SALISBURY, AND STONEHENGE 222

 XVI. CLOVELLY 238

 XVII. ROCHESTER AND CANTERBURY 251

 XVIII. GOOD-BY TO LONDON 273

 INDEX 289

ILLUSTRATIONS

 THEY SUDDENLY SAW THE TREMENDOUS CATHEDRAL LOOMING UP BEFORE THEM (_Page 70_) _Frontispiece_

 FACING PAGE

 "OH, WHAT'S THIS PLACE? I AM SURE I HAVE SEEN PICTURES OF IT!" 12

 "DO YOU REMEMBER THOSE QUAINT LITTLE VERSES ABOUT 'BOW BELLS'?" 16

 "I ONLY WISH I COULD BE A GUARD AND RIDE A HORSE LIKE ONE OF THOSE!" 20

 "THERE'S THE ABBEY RIGHT AHEAD OF US" 26

 "WHAT'S THE USE OF HAVING SO MANY DOORS?" 40

 "THIS SEEMS TO SPEAK OF PEACE, HAPPINESS, AND SAFETY" 44

 "I WANT TO SEE WHO THOSE FELLOWS IN THE FUNNY RED UNIFORMS ARE" 50

 "THE KING CANNOT PROCEED INTO THE 'CITY' WITHOUT BEING FIRST RECEIVED AT TEMPLE BAR BY THE LORD MAYOR" 68

 "I'D FEEL LIKE 'LITTLE LORD FAUNTLEROY' GOING AROUND WITH THOSE CLOTHES ON!" 84

 "YOU REMEMBER, DON'T YOU, HAVING THE GUIDE POINT OUT LONDON BRIDGE?" 88

 THE MOSS-GROWN SAXON PORCH 96

 JOHN MILTON LIVED THERE AFTER HE FLED FROM LONDON 106

 "OH, HERE'S THE OLD CORONATION CHAIR, ISN'T IT?" 114

 "EVERY TIME I VISIT THIS PALACE I MARVEL AT THE AMOUNT OF HISTORY WITH WHICH IT IS CONNECTED" 136

 "WHY, I DIDN'T SUPPOSE IT WAS AS BIG AS THAT!" 140

 "DID ANNE TRULY LIVE HERE?" 164

 "THEY KNOW HOW IMPORTANT THEY ARE, AND THAT THIS GARDEN WOULDN'T BE COMPLETE WITHOUT THEM" 184

 "IT STILL SEEMS ALIVE WITH MEMORIES OF THE FAIR DOROTHY VERNON" 218

 "THERE STILL REMAINS THE QUESTION OF HOW THESE TREMENDOUS STONES WERE BROUGHT HERE" 236

 ONE OF PLASTER AND THATCH, OVERGROWN WITH ROSES 240

 "YOU'LL FIND NOTHING AT ALL LIKE THIS STRANGE LITTLE CLOVELLY" 250

 "WILLIAM OF SENS, IN 1184, FINISHED THE BUILDING WHICH WE NOW SEE" 264

 OLD GENTLEMEN, STOUT LADIES, YOUNG PEOPLE, AND SMALL CHILDREN, ALL RIDE IN ENGLAND 286

JOHN AND BETTY'S HISTORY VISIT

CHAPTER ONE

FIRST IMPRESSIONS

Two eager young Americans sat, one on each side of the window of anEnglish train, speeding towards London. They had landed only thatmorning, and everything seemed very strange to them, as they watchedthe pretty scenes from the car-window. The lady who had met them atthe steamer, was an old friend of the family, who had often been toAmerica, and was well known to the children, though they had neverseen her son and daughter, whom they had come to visit. Mrs. Pitt soonaroused them by saying:--

"Come, John, we are almost there, so please fetch down Betty's wrapsfrom the rack. Here are your umbrellas; you may take Betty's bag andI'll take yours. Yes, it is really England, and soon we'll be inLondon, where Philip and Barbara are very impatiently waiting to meetthe American friends with whom they have been exchanging letters forso long. They have been studying history hard, and have learned allthey possibly could about their own country, which they love, and wantyou to know, too. They have never seen very much of England, and thisis an excellent chance for them to do some sight-seeing with you. Ithink you'll have a jolly time seeing all the strange sights andcustoms, and visiting some historic places. Now, you must not expectto find Philip and Barbara just like your friends at home; Englishchildren dress very differently, and may use some expressions whichyou do not exactly understand, but you'll soon become accustomed tothem all. Here we are at Waterloo Station. "

As the guard swung open the door, two impatient young people hurriedup to the party. 

"Here we are, Mother; did they come?"

John and Betty shyly shook hands with their English friends, but didnot find anything to say, just at first. Mrs. Pitt went to theluggage-van, to find the children's trunks, and the others followed. 

"Aren't the trains funny, John?" said Betty, nervously holding herbrother's hand. 

"See, this is the baggage part of the car, but isn't it small!"

"Oh, there are several on each train, " explained Philip. "Are yourvans any bigger?"

"There are our trunks, Mrs. Pitt, " called John. "I know them by theC's we pasted on the ends. "

"Here, porter, put this luggage on a four-wheeler, please, " and Mrs. Pitt and her charges crowded in, the luggage was piled on top, andthey drove away. 

"Do you think you will like London?" asked Barbara of Betty, ratheranxiously. 

Betty ventured to answer, "Oh, I think so, only it is very differentfrom New York. "

It certainly was! Great, top-heavy buses swung and lurched past them, some of them drawn by splendid horses, but still more with motors. Theoutsides of the vehicles were covered with all sorts of gayadvertisements and signs, in bright and vivid colors; in this way, andin their tremendous numbers, they differ from the New York buses onFifth Avenue. 

"To-night, we will take you out for a ride on top of a bus if youlike, John, " said Philip. 

John, losing his shyness, began to ask questions, and to give hisopinion of the things he saw. 

"I think the buses are great! I shall always choose that seat justbehind the driver, where I can talk to him. He must have fine storiesto tell, doesn't he, Philip? I like the hansoms, too. There reallyseem to be more hansoms than anything else in London! Just look, Betty, at that long row there in the middle of the street! I supposethey are waiting for passengers. And there's a line of 'taxis, ' too. My, but these streets are crowded! Fifth Avenue isn't in it!"

Philip and Barbara looked at each other and smiled. All the sightswhich were so familiar to them, seemed very novel to their Americanvisitors. 

"I suppose it would be just the same to us, if we were to visit NewYork, " said Barbara. "Those bus-horses, which you admire, do look veryfine at first, but the work is so hard on them, that they only last avery short time. Their days are about over now, for soon we shall haveonly the motor-buses. "

[Illustration: "OH, WHAT'S THIS PLACE? I AM SURE I HAVE SEEN PICTURESOF IT!"--_Page 12_. ]

"Oh, what's this place?" cried John excitedly. "I am sure I have seenpictures of it! Why, Philip, I think you once sent me somepost-cards which showed this!"

"Oh, yes, this is Trafalgar Square, " broke in Mrs. Pitt. "Peoplesometimes call it the center of all London. Here is the celebratedstatue of Lord Nelson--here, in the middle; see all the flower-girls, with their baskets, around its foot. That large building, with thepillars, is the National Gallery, where I may take you to see thepictures. The church near it they call St. Martin's-in-the-Fields. Yes, it doesn't seem a very appropriate name now, but once it reallywas 'in the fields, ' it has stood here so long. Do you notice all thestreets leading out from this great square? That way is the directionof the Strand and Fleet Street; Westminster Abbey is not far away; andyou can see the towers of the Houses of Parliament--just there. Youwill soon grow more familiar with all this. Now, we must go this way, and before long, we shall be at home. I think you'll be glad to restafter your tiresome journey. This is Regent Street, where many of theshops are. Aren't they attractive?"

"Yes, " said John, "but how very low the buildings are! As far as I cansee they are all of the same height. They are almost all yellow, too, and with the bright buses the scene is very gay. "

They rode along for some time, the silence being often broken byexclamations and questions. John and Betty could not understand howpeople avoided being run over when they all dashed across the street, right under the very noses of the horses. It was amusing to see peoplestumbling up the narrow, winding stairs of the buses, as they joltedalong, and even the signs over the shops attracted some attention. They wondered if the King and Queen could shop in them all, for somany bore the words, "Jewelers to T. R. M. , " or "Stationers to TheirRoyal Majesties. " London seemed very large to them on this firstdrive--very strange and foreign, and they were glad when the cab drewup before a big house in a spacious square, and the rest cried, "Herewe are at home!"

CHAPTER TWO

THE FIRST EVENING

The big library at Mrs. Pitt's home was a fascinating place, the twovisitors thought. The ceiling was high, the wainscoting was of darkwood, and the walls were almost entirely lined with book-cases. Johnwas delighted with some little steps, which you could push around andclimb up on to reach the highest shelves. This room suggested greatpossibilities to both the young visitors, for, as they were to staymany months, there would certainly be days when it would be too wet togo out, and they could by no means entirely give up their reading. 

As they had felt rather chilly on their bus-ride that evening, thefour young people all came into the library upon their return, anddrew their chairs up to the tiny grate. Betty and John had greatlyenjoyed this new experience, for they had been truly English. Havingjumped aboard while the bus was moving slowly, near the curb, theyhad scrambled up the little steps and taken the seats behind thedriver. They had not noticed much about where they were going, for ithad all seemed a jumble of many lights, crowds of people, and noise. But John had slipped a coin into the driver's hand, and there had beena steady stream of stories from that moment. London bus-drivers haveplenty to tell, and are not at all loath to tell it--especially afterthe encouragement of a tip. John was delighted to hear about the time, one foggy Christmas Eve, when his friend had "sat for four hours, sir, without daring to stir, at 'Yde Park Corner. " John envied him thesplendid moment when the fog had finally lifted and disclosed thegreat mass of traffic, which had been blinded and stalled for so long. 

As John stood in front of the fire thinking it all over, he suddenlyexclaimed, "It was fun to hear that driver drop his h's; that was realCockney for you!"

Betty looked puzzled for a moment, and then said, "Wasn't it supposedthat only people who had been born within the sound of the bells ofold Bow Church could be real Cockneys?"

[Illustration: "DO YOU REMEMBER THOSE QUAINT LITTLE VERSES ABOUT BOWBELLS?"--_Page 17. _]

"That's right, Betty; your history is good, " said Mrs. Pitt, who hadjust entered; "but John, I must tell you that dropping h's is notnecessarily Cockney. The peculiar pronunciation of vowels is whatcharacterizes a true Cockney's speech, but many others drop h's--thepeople of Shropshire for instance. 

"Do you children remember those quaint little verses about Bow Bells?"continued Mrs. Pitt. "In the days when Dick Whittington was a boy, andworked at his trade in London, it was the custom to ring Bow Bells asthe signal for the end of the day's work, at eight o'clock in theevening. One time, the boys found that the clerk was ringing the bellstoo late, and indignant at such a thing, they sent the followingverses to him:

 "'Clerke of the Bow Bells, With the yellow lockes, For thy late ringing, Thou shalt have knockes. '

"The frightened man hastened to send this answer to the boys:

 "'Children of Chepe, Hold you all stille, For you shall have Bow Bells Rung at your wille. '"

"That was bright of them, " commented John, as he rose to take off hiscoat. 

Philip and Barbara had long since thrown off their wraps and pulledtheir chairs away from the fire, saying how warm they were. Even afterJohn had dispensed with his coat, Betty sat just as near the tinyblaze as she could, with her coat still closely buttoned. 

"No, thanks; I want to get warm, " she answered, when they spoke of it. "It seems to me that it's very cold here. Don't you ever have biggerfires?"

As Betty spoke, the little blaze flickered and almost went out. 

"I'll shut the window, " said Philip. "I remember, now, how coldAmericans always are over here. Mother has told us how frightfully hotyou keep your houses. We don't like that, for we never feel the cold. Why, just to show you how accustomed to it we English are, let me tellyou what I read the other day. At Oxford University, up to the time ofKing Henry VIII, no fires were permitted. Just before going to bed thepoor boys used to go out and run a certain distance, to warmthemselves. Even I shouldn't care for that!"

"Let's make some plans for to-morrow, " exclaimed Mrs. Pitt. "Whatshould you like to see first, Betty?"

"I want to go somewhere on a bus!" was John's prompt answer, at whicheverybody laughed except Betty. 

"Oh, yes, but let's go to Westminster Abbey just as soon as possible, John. I've always wanted so much to see it, that I don't believe I canwait now. Think of all the great people who have been associated withit, " said Betty very earnestly. 

"Very well, I quite agree on taking you first to the Abbey, " said Mrs. Pitt. "It is a place of which I could never tire, myself. And strangeto say, I very seldom, if ever, get time to go there, except when I'mshowing it to strangers. Why! It's twenty-five minutes past nine thisvery minute, children; you must go to bed at once!"

CHAPTER THREE

WESTMINSTER ABBEY

The first thing that Betty heard the following morning was a gentleknock upon her bedroom door, and a voice saying, "It's seven o'clock, and will you have some sticks, Miss?"

"What sticks? What for?" Betty asked sleepily. 

They were for a fire, it seemed, and Betty welcomed the idea. She wassoon dressed, and Barbara came to show her the way to thebreakfast-room. 

"You can't think how good it does seem not to be thrown about whiledressing, as we were on the steamer! Do you know that I can't helpstepping up high over the door-sills even yet!" laughed Betty, as theywent downstairs together. "Mrs. Moore, the friend of mother's in whosecare we came, you know, told me that I should probably feel the motionfor some time after landing. "

[Illustration: "I ONLY WISH I COULD BE A GUARD AND RIDE A HORSE LIKEONE OF THOSE!"--_Page 21. _]

To the surprise of John and Betty, there was a very hearty breakfastawaiting them. They had expected the meager tea, toast, and jam, whichsome Americans consider to be customary in English homes, because itis encountered in the hotels. 

Early in the morning, the buses were even more crowded than the nightbefore, and they had some difficulty in finding seats. John placedhimself beside a soldier dressed in a scarlet coat and funny littleround cap held on sidewise by a strap across his chin, with everyintention of starting up a conversation with him; but one glance athis superior air discouraged the boy from any such attempt. When theyarrived at Trafalgar Square again, they jumped off, and walked downtowards the towers of the Houses of Parliament. In front of the HorseGuards they stood in admiration of the two mounted sentries, stationedthere. 

"Those black horses are great!" cried John. "How fine those fellows dolook sitting there like statues in their scarlet uniforms, and theirshiny helmets with the flying tails to them! I only wish I could be aGuard, and ride a horse like one of those!"

"Would you rather be a Horse Guard, or a bus-driver, John?" askedBetty teasingly. 

"Sometimes you see dozens of the Guards together; that's a finesight!" said Barbara, after the laugh had subsided. "They escort theKing when he goes out in state. Oh, you'll see them often. "

That comforted John somewhat, but he could not resist turning aroundfor several glances towards the gateway where the Guards were. 

"Why do they always stand there?" he questioned. 

Mrs. Pitt explained that they were organized by Charles II, who neededall possible protection to enable him to hold the throne after hisexile in foreign lands. After the days of Cromwell, times were veryunsettled, and many disturbances were likely to occur. Hence the dutyof these Guards was probably to keep the peace (the 'prentices andcommon people were very hot-headed), and to escort the King, as theystill do. 

"Perhaps, " she went on, "you don't understand who the 'prentices were. Long ago it was the custom to apprentice boys to one of the great andpowerful guilds or companies. These were organizations of manymerchants belonging to the same trade; such as shipbuilders, carpenters, candle-makers, and so forth. Their main object was to seethat the work which was turned out was good. Every man belonged to hisguild; some were for 'common and middling folks, ' while kings andprinces were members of others. A great deal of good was done by thesecompanies, for each, besides aiding and protecting its own members, usually had some other charity. For instance, the guild at Lincoln fedyearly as many poor as there were members of the guild; and anotherkept a sort of inn for the shelter of poor travelers. The guildsplayed an important part in the life of the time. Well, as I wassaying, when a boy had chosen the trade which was to his taste, hewent to the city, and was apprenticed to a member of one of theguilds, with whom he usually lived. The boys were called 'prentices. Their life was not an easy one, and yet, it seems to me that they musthave enjoyed it. In those days, there were great tournaments and grandprocessions of kings, with hundreds of servants and followers, allsplendidly dressed in brilliant colors. Men wore magnificent clothesof silks and velvets and cloth-of-gold, with costly jewels, such asropes of pearls; and their servants, whose duty it was to go beforetheir masters on the street, wore suits of livery with the silverbadge of their master. London in those days was a wonderfully busyplace! On board the ships sailing up the river were men in strangecostumes, from foreign lands. The 'prentices would often stop work towatch a company of Portuguese sailors pass, or a gorgeous processionof bishops with their retainers; and from this little verse we knowthat they did not always return very quickly to their duties. Do youknow this?

 "'When ther any ridings were in Chepe, Out of the shoppe thider would he lepe; And till that he had all the sight ysein, And danced well, he would not come again. '

"There were always processions, too, in winter as well as in summer, for the people seemed not to mind rain or storm in the least. The boyshad many holidays, --there were frequent pageants, feasts, andcelebrations of all kinds, --and on the whole, I think they must havebeen very happy in spite of the long hours of work, don't you?Another curious custom was the keeping of cudgels in every shop forthe use of the 'prentices, in case of a fight--and I imagine that theywere numerous. Now, come close to me, children, while we cross thisstreet; there's the Abbey right ahead of us. "

As they entered the north transept of Westminster Abbey, the dimlight, in contrast to the sunshine outside, was almost blinding. Atfirst, all was indistinct except the great rose-window, in theopposite transept, through which the light strayed in many colors. Themorning service was in progress, so they sat down near the door, andlistened and looked. How beautiful!--how tremendous it all was! EvenJohn's overflowing spirits were quieted, it was so wonderfullyimpressive! The rose-window still stood out clearly against the deepshadows all about it, but a faint light could now be seen coming inthrough the little windows, high up near the roof, --the clerestorywindows, they are called. Betty could see the massive roof, the longaisles crowded with marble monuments, and the pillars. The canon'svoice was heard intoning in a deep, monotonous key; reading followed, and then some one sang, in a high, clear voice, which seemed to comefrom far away, and yet to fill all the space of the great building. Betty could not have spoken a word; she was filled with a kind ofwondering awe such as she had never known before. 

John, more matter-of-fact, was examining the statues nearest to him. 

He touched Betty's arm to attract her attention, and said, "See, thereare lots of statues here, Betty, but I only know the names of WilliamPitt and Benjamin Disraeli, 'Twice Prime-Minister. ' Do you rememberhim? Wonder if William Pitt was an ancestor of our Mrs. Pitt!" herambled on, not seeing that his sister took no notice of him. 

As for Betty, she scarcely knew that any one had spoken to her. Sheseemed to be back in the Middle Ages, and the present had vanishedaway. 

When the service was ended, they walked about, examining the monumentsas they went. 

[Illustration: "THERE'S THE ABBEY RIGHT AHEAD OF US. "--_Page 25. _]

"This long, broad aisle extending from the main entrance to the choiris called the nave, " explained Mrs. Pitt. "The shorter aisles whichform the crossing are the transepts, and the choir is always theeastern end of the building, containing the altar. These are factswhich you will want to learn and remember. "

"The kings and queens are all buried here, aren't they, Mrs. Pitt?"questioned John. "Will they put King Edward here, too, when he dies?"

"A great many kings and queens are buried here, though not all, " Mrs. Pitt told them. "The Royal Tombs are there, behind those gates, in thechapels which surround the choir. We can't go in there unless we takea guide, and I thought we would wait for another day to visit thelovely chapel of Henry VII and all the famous tombs. I don't want youto see too much at one time. No, John, King Edward probably will notbe buried here. Queen Victoria, his mother, lies at a place calledFrogmore, near Windsor, and it is likely that her son will choose thatspot, also. Here's the Poets' Corner, and there is at least one facewhich I'm sure you will be glad to see. This is it. "

As she spoke, the party stopped in front of the well-known bust of ourpoet, Longfellow, which I suppose every American is proud to see. 

"So they read 'Hiawatha, ' even in England, " Betty remarked. 

"There are tablets all over the floor, under our feet! Look, I'mstanding on Dickens' grave this very minute! And there's 'Oh, Rare BenJonson, ' right there on the wall; I've always heard of that. Andhere's Spenser, and Chaucer, and Browning, and Tennyson, very closetogether. Oh! It's dreadful! I don't want to step on them! Why, everybody who ever was anybody seems to be here!" gasped John, forgetting his grammar in his interest. 

"Here are busts of Scott (there's the man for me!), and Burns, Goldsmith, and Coleridge; I know all these names. Here's a statue ofShakespeare, though of course he isn't buried here. There's a tabletto Jenny Lind. Wasn't she a singer? Seems to me I've heard my grandpaspeak of her. And, if here isn't Thackeray's grave--there in the flooragain! Well! Well!"

"Come over here, John, and see this, " called Philip, pointing to atomb on which was this inscription:

 Thomas Parr of ye county of Salop, born A. D. 1483. He lived in the reignes of ten princes, viz. --King Edward IV, King Edward V, King Richard III, King Henry VII, King Henry VIII, King Edward VI, Queen Mary, Queen Elizabeth, King James, and King Charles; aged 152 years, and was buryed here, 1635. 

"Well, that beats them all!" laughed John, who was greatly pleased. 

Mrs. Pitt now led the rest into the little chapel of St. Faith, offthe south transept, where they sat down to rest. 

"It's the most wonderful place I ever dreamed of!" said Betty quietly, as though she were talking to herself. "This little chapel is thequaintest, oldest thing I ever saw! The walls are so dark; that tinywindow up so high, hardly lets in any light at all; and the altar, with the faded picture, is so strange! I can't believe it is thetwentieth century; the people in the Abbey now don't seem real to meat all. They look so small and shadowy beside the huge statues ofpeople of other days! Surely the people the statues represent belonghere, and not we! Why, I feel so far back in history that I shouldn'tbe in the least surprised to see Raleigh, or Chaucer, or QueenElizabeth, walk into this chapel, right now! I should probably go upand say 'How do you do?'" she added laughingly. 

Betty did not know that any one had heard her talking, but Mrs. Pitthad been listening, and when Betty was silent, she said:

"Come, let's go out into the sunshine of the cloisters now. I amreally afraid to have Betty stay in here any longer! The first thingwe know, she'll be disappearing into the Middle Ages! She's almostthere now!"

As they went through the low door into the cloisters, she continued, "I want to explain to you children, that in connection with thisAbbey, as with all, there was for centuries a great monastery; andthat the buildings which we shall see, as well as the cloisters, hadto do with the monks. Henry VIII dissolved all the monasteries inEngland, you remember. "

The ancient cloisters of Westminster Abbey are deeply interesting andimpressive. They are four arcades built around the square grass-plot, which was the monks' burial-ground. The fine tracery of the windows isnow much broken, and is crumbling away with age, but its exquisitecarving is still plainly seen. The original pavement yet remains; itis much worn by the feet of the monks, and is almost covered bytablets which mark the resting-places of the abbots, as well as ofothers. The members of our party were touched, as are all, by thepathetic simplicity of the epitaph: "Jane Lister, Dear Childe, 1688. "Those four short words suggest a sad story about which one would liketo learn more. 

"You must know, " said Mrs. Pitt, "that the cloisters were somethingbesides burial-places. Here the monks spent most of their time, forthis was the center of the life of the monastery. The southerncloister, over opposite, was the lavatory, and there the monks wereforced to have their heads shaved, --every two weeks in summer, andevery three in winter. These walls were then painted with frescoes, the floor and benches were covered with rushes or straw, the windowswere partly glazed, and lamps hung from the ceiling. In one of thecloisters was held a class of novices, taught by a master, and thiswas the beginning of Westminster School. I believe the pupils wereallowed to speak only French. How would you like that?"

Adjoining the cloisters are numerous little passageways, with lowarches, which lead into tiny courts dotted with flowers and littlefountains. In the houses about, live the canons of the Abbey andothers connected with the church. Lovely glimpses of sunlight and thebright colors of flowers are seen at the ends of these dark, ancientpassages. 

Westminster School may also be reached from the cloisters. Our partystood a moment in the doorway of the schoolroom to see the splendidold hall, with its fine oaken roof. This was once the dormitory of themonks, but is now taken up with the boys' "forms, " or desks, piledwith books. The walls above the wainscoting, and the window-recesses, are covered with signatures of the scholars, --some of them famous, forthe school was begun as long ago as the time of Henry VIII, who wasthe founder. The visitor may see the name of the poet, Dryden, on oneof the desks; he was a pupil there, as were also Sir Christopher Wren, the architect; Ben Jonson; Southey, the poet; and John and CharlesWesley. 

"What is that iron bar for?" questioned the curious John, pointing toa long bar which stretches from wall to wall, across the middle of theroom. 

"That divides the Upper and Lower Classes, " was the prompt reply ofMrs. Pitt, whose stock of knowledge seemed endless. "At one time, acurtain was hung over that bar. Don't you know the story which is toldin the 'Spectator Papers, ' about the boy who accidentally tore a holein this curtain? He was a timid little fellow, and was terrified atthe thought of the punishment which he felt sure would be his. One ofhis classmates came to the rescue, saying that he would take the blameupon himself, which he did. It was years later, when the timid boy hadbecome a great judge, that the Civil War broke out, and he and hisfriend took opposite sides. The kind man who had saved his friend frompunishment was a Royalist, and was captured and imprisoned at Exeter, where the other man happened to come at the same time, with theCircuit Court. At the moment when nothing remained but to sentence the'rebels, ' the judge recognized his friend, and by making a veryhurried trip to London, he was able to secure a pardon from Cromwell, and thus succeeded in saving the man's life. "

"That was fine!" said John. "He did pay him back after all, didn'the? I thought he wasn't going to. "

"Now, we will just look into the Chapter House and the old JerusalemChamber, before we go, " said Mrs. Pitt, as they left the school. 

The Chapter House is a beautiful, eight-sided room, dating from thethirteenth century. Here the business of the monastery was alwaysconducted, and at the meetings which came every week, the monks wereallowed to speak freely, and to make complaints, if they wished. Herealso the monks were punished. 

"They used to whip them against that central pillar, there, " the guardexplained. "Here sat the abbot, opposite the door, and the monks saton benches ranged around the room. Parliament met here for many years, too, its last session in this room being on the day that the greatKing Hal died. "

The Chapter House has been restored now, and the windows are of modernstained-glass. In the cases are preserved some valuable documents, theoldest being a grant of land, made by King Offa, in 785. 

To reach the Jerusalem Chamber, it is necessary to go through a partof the cloisters, and into the court of the Deanery. On one side isthe old abbot's refectory, or dining-hall, where the Westminsterschool-boys now dine. John went boldly up the steps and entered. Aftera few minutes, he came running out again, exclaiming:

"Nobody stopped me, so I went right in, and looked around. A maid wassetting the tables, and I noticed that she stared at me, but shedidn't say anything, so I stayed. The hall is great! It isn't verylarge, but is paneled and hung with portraits. The old tables, anotice says, are made from wood taken from one of the vessels of theSpanish Armada. Wonder how they found it and brought it here! I wasjust going to ask the maid, when a savage-looking man appeared andsaid I had no business there. So I came away. I don't care; I saw it, anyway!" he added, as they approached the entrance of the JerusalemChamber. 

All three sides of this little court were the abbot's lodgings, andare now the deanery. The Jerusalem Chamber was built about 1376, as aguest-chamber for the abbot's house. 

"The name is curious, isn't it?" remarked Mrs. Pitt. "It probably camefrom some tapestries which formerly hung there, representing thehistory of Jerusalem. It was in this room, right here in front of thefireplace, according to tradition, that Henry IV died. A strange dreamhad told the King that he would die in Jerusalem, and he was actuallypreparing for the journey there, when he was taken very ill, and theycarried him into this room. When he asked where they had brought him, and the reply was, 'To the Jerusalem Chamber, ' he died satisfied. Manybodies have lain here in state, too, --among them, that of JosephAddison, whom they afterwards buried in the Abbey. When we come again, I will show you his grave. Now, notice the bits of ancientstained-glass in the windows, and the cedar paneling; except for that, there is nothing specially noteworthy here. "

As they left the Dean's Yard and crossed the open space in front ofthe great western towers of the Abbey, John and Betty agreed that ifthey could see nothing more in England, they were already repaid fortheir long journey across the ocean. 

CHAPTER FOUR

PENSHURST PLACE: THE HOME OF SIR PHILIP SIDNEY

In Charing Cross Station one morning, Mrs. Pitt hurried up to the"booking-office, " as the English call the ticket-office, to "book"five tickets to Penshurst. While the man was getting her change, sheturned and said to Philip:--

"Please ask that guard who is standing there, on which platform weshall find the 9. 40 train for Penshurst. "

Philip did so, and returned with the information that they should goto Platform 8. So they all mounted the steps and walked over thefoot-bridge which always runs across and above all the tracks, in anEnglish station. There was a bench on the platform, and they sat downto await the arrival of the train. About 9. 35, five minutes before thetrain was to start, John happened to see a train official saunteringby, and asked him if it was correct that the Penshurst train left fromthat platform. 

The man stared. "Really, you are quite mistaken, " he drawled; "thattrain leaves from Platform 2. You had better hurry, you know; youhaven't much time. "

John waited for nothing more, but ran to tell the rest, and they allstarted for the other end of the station. Up the steep steps again ranMrs. Pitt, with the four young people following. Along the bridge theyflew till they reached Platform 2, and then they almost fell down thesteps in their hurry, for the train was already there. 

When they were fairly seated in a third-class carriage, John, stillout of breath, exclaimed:--

"Whew! My! I never ran faster in my life, did you, Philip? How thegirls kept up, I don't know! You're a first-class sprinter all right, Mrs. Pitt! We'd like you on our football team, at home! My, but I'mhot!"

He paused for breath, and then went on excitedly:

"There was a close call for you! We'd have lost it if I hadn't spokento that guard, just in fun! There we were calmly waiting, and all of asudden, we took that wild dash across the bridge! It was great! Ihope somebody caught a photograph of us! I'd like to see one! Howstupid of the guard to make that mistake! They never seem to know verymuch, anyway. If I ever am a guard, I shall be different; I shall knowthings!"

They all had a good laugh over the adventure, and Mrs. Pitt assuredJohn that when he was a guard, they would all promise to use hisstation. 

"Don't these trains seem different from ours, Betty?" the future guardasked of his sister. "It seems so queer to me why they want to take aperfectly good, long car, and chop it up from side to side, intolittle narrow rooms, like this! What's the use of having so manydoors?--one on each side of every 'compartment'! And then, they puthandles only on the outside, so you have to let down the window andlean away out to open it for yourself, if the guard doesn't happen todo it for you! We Americans couldn't waste so much time!"

Just then, Betty, who could contain herself no longer, burst outlaughing. 

"Why, what in the world's the matter?" cried Barbara. 

Betty could only point to a passing train. "It's only the funnylittle freight cars!" she finally explained, rather ashamed that shehad let her feelings escape in that way. "They look so silly to us!They seem about a third the size of the ones at home. Really, theseremind me of a picture in my history-book, of the first train ever runin America!"

Mrs. Pitt smiled. "Yes, I can imagine just how strange they must seemto you, for I remember very well how I felt the first time I ever rodein one of your trains. To me, one of the most interesting things aboutvisiting a foreign country, is to see the different modes of travel. "

"Oh, please understand that I think so, too!" urged Betty. "It wasonly that I couldn't help laughing just at first, you see. I wouldn'thave your trains just like ours for anything, and I'm sure that Johnwouldn't either. "

[Illustration: "WHAT'S THE USE OF HAVING SO MANY DOORS?"--_Page 39. _]

"Now, " said Mrs. Pitt, "there is a little confession which I feel thatI ought to make. It's about where we are going to-day. Probably mostpeople would blame me for not taking you to Windsor or Hampton Court, on your first trip out of town. Both those places are charming, butI wanted to show you, first of all, this dear little corner of Kent. All tourists flock to Windsor and Hampton Court, but a great many donot know about this tiny, out-of-the-way village, with which I fell inlove years ago. Penshurst Place was the home of Sir Philip Sidney, andis still owned by a member of the same family. You know that SirPhilip lived in Queen Elizabeth's time, and that his name stands forthe model of a perfect courtier and ideal gentleman. He died when hewas very young--only thirty-two, I think--and he did very little whichyou would suppose could have made him so famous. That is, it waslittle in comparison with what Raleigh and Drake accomplished, and yetthe name of Sidney ranks with all the rest. It seems to have been morein the way he did things, than in what he did. Of course, you rememberthe story of his death, --that when he was dying, he passed a cup ofwater which was brought him, to another dying soldier, saying, 'Thyneed is greater than mine. ' Well, to-day we shall see where he wasborn and bred, --where Ben Jonson, Edmund Spenser, and Queen Elizabethall visited. "

They were now riding through Kent, in which county is some of the mostpicturesque English scenery. Although it was only the last of April, the grass was the freshest green, the great trees were in full leaf, and primroses were beginning to spring up in the fields. They spedthrough little villages of thatched-roofed cottages, each with itstiny garden of gay flowers. There were little crooked lanes, borderedby high hedges, and wide, shady roads, with tall, stately elms oneither side, and fields where sheep grazed. 

"Oh, there's a cottage which looks like Anne Hathaway's!" exclaimedBetty. "It couldn't be, could it? Anyway, it's real story-bookcountry!"

They left the train at the little station of Penshurst, two miles fromthe village. Behind the building stood a queer, side-seated wagon, with one stout horse. The driver, when Philip found him, seemed loathto bestir himself, but was finally persuaded to drive them to thecastle. 

Penshurst village proved to be even prettier than those they had seenfrom the train. The Lord of Penshurst Place is a very wise, appreciative man, and he has made a rule that when any cottage in thevillage is found to be beyond repair, it shall be replaced by a newhouse exactly like the original. In consequence, the houses lookequally old and equally attractive, with their roofs of grayishthatch, and the second stories leaning protectingly over the lowerwindows, overgrown with rose-vines. 

Mrs. Pitt went into the tiny post-office to buy their tickets ofadmission to the castle, and when she called out that there were alsopretty post-cards to be had, the others quickly followed. Havingchosen their cards, they all walked through the little church-yard, with its ancient yew trees, and out into a field from which they couldsee Penshurst Place itself. 

"Why! isn't it a huge place!" cried Barbara. "This is just as new toPhilip and me, you know, Betty, for we have never been here, either. "

"How charmingly situated it is!" exclaimed Mrs. Pitt enthusiastically. "Just a glance at it would tell you that it was never a strongfortress. Like Raby Castle, another favorite of mine, I believe thatPenshurst never stood a siege. But it is so stately and graceful, standing in the center of these perfect lawns and groups of noble oldtrees! It is a beautiful contrast to the many fortress-castles! Thisseems to speak of peace, happiness, and safety. "

The castle covers a great deal of ground, and is low and square, withhere and there a turret. A terrace, or broad walk, runs the length ofthe front of the building, where the moat formerly was, and the partycrossed this to reach the entrance-way. His Lordship came out justthen, with his dog, and glanced kindly at the eager young people. Continuing, they crossed a square court, and came to a second gateway, where a servant met them and conducted them into the old-timeBaronial-hall, dating from the fourteenth century. 

"This, " announced the guide with tremendous pride, "we believe to bethe only banquet-hall now remaining in England, where the ancientfireplace in the center of the room still exists. You'll see many finehalls, but you'll not see another such fireplace. "

[Illustration: "THIS SEEMS TO SPEAK OF PEACE, HAPPINESS, AND SAFETY. "_Page 44. _]

John went up to investigate, and found that right in the middle of thevast room was a high hearth, on which some logs were piled. "Buthow----?" he was asking, when the guide's explanations flowed on oncemore:

"Yes, the smoke went out through a little hole in the roof. Thishall has never been restored, you see. That's the best thing about it, most people think, lady. Here's the oak paneling, turned gray withage; there, up on the wall, are the original grotesque figures, carvedin wood; here, are two of the old tables, as old as the hall; andthere's the musicians' gallery, at that end, over the entrance. "

Mrs. Pitt was leaning against one of the massive tables, with her eyespartly closed. "Let's just imagine the grand feasts which have beenheld here, " she mused. "I can almost see the Lord and Lady, dressed inpurple and scarlet, sitting with their guests at a table across thisend of the room. A board stretches down the length of the hall, andhere sit the inferiors and retainers. A long procession of servants iswinding always around the tables, bearing great roasts, birds, pasties, and all sorts of goodies, on huge platters, high above theirheads. Up in the gallery here, the musicians are playing loudly andgayly, and even when they cease the guests do not lack forentertainment, for the fool, in his dress of rainbow colors, iscontinually saying witty things and propounding funny riddles. In sucha place much elegance and ceremony were the necessary accompanimentsof a grand feast. In a book giving instructions for the serving of theRoyal table, is this direction, which always interested me: 'First setforth mustard with brawn; take your knife in your hand, and cut thebrawn in the dish, as it lieth, and lay on your Sovereign's trencher, and see that there be mustard. ' As you see, they were exceedingly fondof mustard. Richard Tarleton, an actor of Queen Elizabeth's time, whowas much at Court as jester, is reported as having called mustard 'awitty scold meeting another scold. '"

The guide was growing impatient, and Mrs. Pitt ceased, sayingreluctantly, "Well, I suppose we must go on. "

A servant rang a bell, and soon, down some stairs came a dear littleold lady dressed in stiff black silk, with white apron and cap, andmitts on her hands. She escorted the party up the stairs, into herdomain. 

"Wouldn't you just know to look at her that she had been in the familyall her life?" whispered Barbara to Betty. 

First they saw the Ball-room, a stately apartment in which hang threevery valuable chandeliers, which Queen Elizabeth gave to Sir HenrySidney. The next room is still called "Queen Elizabeth's Room, " forhere that Queen slept when upon a visit to the house. The samefurniture which she used is still in place, as well as some tapestriesmade in honor of the visit, by Lady Sidney. 

"If Queen Elizabeth slept in that bed, " remarked Betty, "she couldn'thave been very tall. "

Their guide, taking this as criticism of one of her beloved treasures, was quick to say:

"It only looks short, because it's so uncommon wide, begging yourpardon, Miss. "

"Did that stool belong to anybody?" questioned Barbara, tactfullychanging the subject. "It looks as if it has a history. "

"And it has, Miss; that stool was used by the late Queen Victoria (Godbless her!), at her coronation at Westminster Abbey!" and the loyalold lady patted the black velvet stool respectfully. 

The rooms and corridors of the old house are crowded with things ofinterest. Sir Philip's helmet is there, and a bit of hisshaving-glass. In a small room called the "Pages' Closet, " arepreserved rare specimens of china--Queen Elizabeth's dessert-set, ingreen, and Queen Anne's breakfast-set, in blue and white. Betty andBarbara were deeply interested in Mary Stuart's jewel-case, and theylaughed over a very curious old painting which shows Queen Elizabethdancing. The long picture-gallery is lined with portraits--most ofthem Sidneys--and among them those of the mother of Sir Philip, and ofhis sister, the Countess of Pembroke, for whom he wrote his "Arcadia. "

When they again passed through the Ball-room on their way out, theywere shown a little square window on one of the walls, which they hadnot noticed before. 

"Why! I can see down into the Banquet-hall!" exclaimed Philip, who hadclimbed up to look through. 

"Yes, " said their guide, "in the olden times, the master at the ballcould look through there to see how the servants were behaving, downin the hall below. "

Out on the lawn again, they lingered for a few minutes while Mrs. Pittreminded them that there is every reason to believe that under thosevery trees Spenser wrote his "Shepherd's Calendar. "

Reluctantly they left the castle and walked back to the carriage, which awaited them in the village. 

"If all English castles are as beautiful as Penshurst Place, " declaredBetty earnestly, "I can't go back to America until I have seen everyone!"

CHAPTER FIVE

THE TOWER OF LONDON

"I should think they'd call it 'The Towers, ' instead of 'The Tower, '"remarked Betty, surveying the curious, irregular jumble of buildingsbefore her, as they left the bus. 

"That's true, " Mrs. Pitt agreed; "but I suppose the name was firstgiven to the White Tower, which is the oldest part and was built byWilliam the Conqueror as long ago as 1080. Why did they call it theWhite Tower? Well, I believe it was because they whitewashed the wallsin the thirteenth century. Why, what's the matter, John?"

"I want to see who those fellows in the funny red uniforms are, " Johncalled back, as he ran ahead. 

[Illustration: "I WANT TO SEE WHO THOSE FELLOWS IN THE FUNNY REDUNIFORMS ARE. "--_Page 50. _]

When they reached the entrance, they saw John admiring a group ofthese "fellows, " who stood just inside the gate. In reality, they areold soldiers who have served the King well, and are thereforeallowed to be the keepers and guides of the Tower. They bear thestrange name of "beefeaters" (a word grown from the French"buffetiers"), and are very picturesque in their gorgeous scarletuniforms, covered with gilt trimmings and many badges, a style ofcostume which these custodians have worn ever since the time of HenryVIII, and which was designed by the painter, Holbein. 

Any one may pay sixpence for a ticket which entitles him to wanderabout the precincts of the Tower, and to see the "Crown Jewels, " andthe armory, but Mrs. Pitt, being more ambitious for her young friends, had obtained a permit from the Governor of the Tower. This shepresented to the "beefeater" who stood by the first gateway, afterthey had crossed the great empty moat. The old man stepped to a tinydoor behind him, opened it, disclosing a small, winding stair, andcalled "Warder! Party, please!"

A venerable "beefeater" with white hair and beard came in answer tothe summons, and bowing politely to the party, immediately started offwith them. They set out along a little, narrow, paved street, linedby ancient buildings or high walls. 

"They do say h'as 'ow the Princess Elizabeth, afterwards Queen, wash'imprisoned in that room, up there, " stated the guide, pointing to asmall window in a wall on their left. "By Queen Mary's h'orders shewas brought in through the Traitor's Gate, there. That was a greatdisgrace, you know, Miss, " he said to Betty, "for h'all the Stateprisoners entered by there, and few of them h'ever again left theTower. "

Before them some steps led down to a little paved court, and beyond, under a building, they saw the terrible Traitor's Gate, --a low, gloomyarch, with great wooden doors. The water formerly came through thearch and up to the steps, at which the unfortunate prisoners werelanded. As the Princess Elizabeth stepped from the boat, she cried, "Here landeth as true a subject, being a prisoner, as ever landed atthese stairs; and before Thee, O God, I speak it!"

"Isn't there a proverb, 'A loyal heart may be landed at Traitor'sGate'?" questioned Mrs. Pitt; and turning to the guide she added, "Wasn't it right here where we are standing that Margaret Ropercaught sight of her father, Sir Thomas More, after his trial?" As theguide nodded his assent, she went on, "You all remember Sir ThomasMore, of course, --the great and noble man whom Henry VIII beheadedbecause he would not swear allegiance to the King as head of theChurch in England. In those days, an ax was always carried in the boatwith the prisoner, on his return to the Tower, after the trial. If thehead of the ax was turned toward the victim, it was a sign that he wascondemned. It was here, as I said, that Margaret Roper stood with thecrowd, eagerly watching for the first glimpse of her beloved father;and when he came near and she saw the position of the ax, she brokeaway from the soldiers, and flung herself into her father's arms. Thetwo were so devoted that their story has always seemed an especiallypathetic one to me. I suppose there were many like it, however. "

"Indeed there were, lady, " returned the guide, quite moved. 

Just opposite Traitor's Gate is the Bloody Tower, the most picturesquebit of the entire fortress. The old portcullis there is known as theonly one in England which is still fit for use. At the side is anancient and rusty iron ring, which attracted John's attention so muchthat he asked about it. 

"Boatmen coming through the Traitor's Gate yonder, used to tie theirboats to that ring, " the "beefeater" told them. "That shows you 'owmuch farther h'up the water came in those days. H'in a room over thegateway of the Bloody Tower there, the Duke of Clarence, h'accordingto some, drowned himself in a butt of Malmsey wine; and in h'anadjoining room, they say that the little Princes were murdered byh'order of their uncle, the powerful Duke of Gloucester, who stoletheir right to the throne. Right 'ere, at the foot of these steps, iswhere 'e 'urriedly buried them, h'after 'is men 'ad smothered them. "

The children stood gazing at the little window over the gateway, theireyes big with horror. It did not seem as though such terrible thingscould have been done there in that little room, into which the sun nowpoured through the tiny window. 

Every night at eleven o'clock, the warder on guard at the BloodyTower challenges the Chief Warder, who passes bearing the keys. Eachtime this conversation follows:--

"Who goes there?"

"Keys. "

"Whose keys?"

"King Edward VII's keys. "

"Advance King Edward VII's keys, and all's well. "

Not until then, may the keys in the Chief Warder's care be allowed topass on. 

Some steps just beyond lead into the Wakefield Tower, where the "CrownJewels" are now kept. The "beefeater" remained below, but Mrs. Pitttook the young people up into the little round room where the splendidcrowns and other jewels are seen, behind iron bars. After examiningminutely the objects on view, while leaning just as far as possibleover the rail, John burst out with:

"Just look at those huge salt-cellars!" pointing to several very largegold ones. "I should say that the English must be about as fond ofsalt as they are of mustard, to have wanted those great things! Oh, Idon't care for these!" he added. "They are stupid, I think! Imaginebeing King Edward, and owning such elegant crowns, scepters, andthings, and then letting them stay way down here at the Tower, wherehe can't get at them! What's the use of having them, I'd like to know!Oh, come on! I've seen enough of these!"

"Wait just a minute, John, " interrupted Betty. "See! here's QueenVictoria's crown, and in it is the ruby that belonged to the BlackPrince, and which Henry V wore in his helmet at Agincourt! Justthink!" with a sigh. "Now I'll go. "

"Speaking of crowns, " observed Mrs. Pitt, in passing down the stairs, "have you ever heard about the large emerald which George III wore inhis crown, at his coronation? During the ceremony, it fell out, andsuperstitious people regarded it as a bad omen. Their fears wererealized when that sovereign lost something much dearer to him thanany jewel: his American Colonies. "

The previously-mentioned White Tower stands in the center of all theother surrounding buildings. It is large and square, with turrets atthe four corners, --an ideal old fortress. As they approached, theguide took out some keys and unlocked a door, starting down somesteps into the darkness. "Oh, the dungeons!" gasped Betty, and she andBarbara shivered a little, as they followed. 

Just at the foot they halted, and the guide showed them some roundholes in the floor. 

"'Ere's where they fastened down the rack. This 'ere's the TortureChamber. You may think that being so near the entrance, the cries ofthe victims could be 'eard by the people outside, lady, but thesewalls are so thick that there was no possible chance of that. Ah, downin these parts is where we still see things, ladies!"

"Why, what do you mean?" whispered John, dreading and yet longing tohear. 

Thus encouraged, their guide continued:--

"Once h'every month, it is my turn to watch down 'ere, during thenight. Some of us don't like to admit it, lady, but we h'all dreadthat! Many things which 'ave never been written down in 'istory, 'ave'appened in these 'ere passages and cells! Ah, there are figures glidearound 'ere in the dead o' night, and many's the times I've 'eardscreams, way in the distance, as though somebody was being 'urt! Now, this way, please, and I'll show you Guy Fawkes's cell, --'im h'as wasthe originator of the Gunpowder Plot, and tried to blow up the 'ousesof Parliament. "

They felt their way along the uneven floors, and peered into thedarkness of Guy Fawkes's cell, which was called "Little Ease. "

"Just imagine having to stay long in there!" sighed Betty. "Not ableto stand up, lie down, or even sit up straight! Did they make it thatway on purpose, do you think?"

"They certainly did, Miss, " declared the guide. "They tried to make'im confess 'o 'ad associated with 'im in the plot; but 'e wouldn't, and they finally put 'im on the rack, poor man! A terrible thing wasthat rack!"

"Let's come away now, " broke in Mrs. Pitt quickly. "I really think wehave all had about enough of this, and there are more cheerful thingsto be seen above. "

So they threaded their way out to the entrance again, getting whiffsof damp, disagreeable air from several dark dungeons, and passingthrough a number of great apartments stacked with guns. It was arelief to gain the main part of the building, where other people were, and plenty of warmth and sunlight. Their spirits rose, and theylaughed and joked while climbing the narrow, spiral stairs. 

The large room in which they found themselves was filled with weaponsalso, and various relics of the old Tower. It was used as the greatBanqueting-hall when the Tower was the Royal Palace, as well as thefortress, the State prison, the Mint, the Armory, and the RecordOffice. The apartment above this was the Council Chamber. They wentup. 

"It was here that Richard II gave up his crown to Henry of Bolingbrokewho became Henry IV, by demand of the people, " said Mrs. Pitt. "Richard was a weak, cruel king, you remember, and was confined in adistant castle, where he was finally murdered. Suppose we examine someof this armor now. This suit here belonged to Queen Elizabeth'sfavorite, the Earl of Leicester. Notice the initials R. D. , whichstand for his name, Robert Dudley. This here was made for Charles Iwhen he was a boy; and that belonged to Charles Brandon, Duke ofSuffolk; and this, to Henry VIII himself. Aren't they interesting?Yes, what's that you have found, Barbara?"

The two boys were absorbed in the armor for some time, but Barbara andBetty liked a figure on horseback, which represents Queen Elizabeth asshe looked when she rode out in state. It is strangely realistic, forthe figure is dressed in a gown of the period said to have belonged tothat Queen. 

"Do you suppose that jewels were sewn into the dress where those roundholes are?" asked Betty, gently touching the faded velvet with onefinger. 

They all examined the dreadful instruments of torture, some of themtaken from the Armada, and the ghastly headsman's block and mask, andthen they descended the winding stairs again and went into the littleshadowy St. John's Chapel, on the floor with the Banqueting-hall. 

"I want you all to remember that this is called the 'most perfectNorman chapel in England, '" began Mrs. Pitt. "Some day when you havelearned more about architecture, that will mean a great deal to you. These heavy circular pillars and the horseshoe arches show the ancientNorman style. It's a quaint place, isn't it? Here Brackenbury, theLieutenant of the Tower, was praying one evening when the order cameto him to murder the two little Princes. In this chapel, the Duke ofNorthumberland, the aged father of Lady Jane Grey, heard Mass beforehe went out to execution. 'Bloody Mary' came here to attend serviceupon the death of her brother, Edward VI. Somewhere on the same floorof this tower, John Baliol, the Scotch King, was imprisoned and livedfor some time in great state. There is (at any rate, there was) asecret passage between this chapel and the Royal Apartments. I haveread so much about the dreadful conspirators who skulked about theTower, and the fearful deeds that were done here, that I can almostsee a man in armor, with drawn sword, lurking behind one of thesepillars!"

Some soldiers in their gay uniforms were parading on Tower Green whenthey went out again, and the scene was a merry, bright one. 

"How different from the days when the scaffold stood under thosetrees!" exclaimed Mrs. Pitt, as they approached the fatal spot. "Hereperished Lady Jane Grey, Anne Boleyn, Katharine Howard, and QueenElizabeth's unfortunate favorite, the Earl of Essex. Most of thevictims were beheaded just outside, on Tower Hill. Now, we'll lookinto St. Peter's Chapel. "

It is a gloomy, unattractive enough little chapel, but there areburied here many illustrious men and women, whose lives were unjustlytaken by those in power. Here lie the queens who suffered at theTower, and, strangely enough, their tombs are mostly unmarked. JohnFisher, the ancient Bishop of Rochester, lies here, and GuildfordDudley, husband to Lady Jane Grey, the Earl of Arundel, Sir ThomasMore, and many others whose names are forever famous. 

Our party visited the little room in the Beauchamp Tower, which somany examine with intense interest. Many people were imprisoned there, and the walls are literally covered with signatures, verses, coats-of-arms, crests, and various devices cut into the stone by thecaptives. Perhaps the most famous is the simple word "JANE, " said tohave been done by her husband, Guildford Dudley. A secret passage hasbeen discovered extending around this chamber, and probably spies werestationed there to watch the prisoners and listen to what they said. 

"That's the Brick Tower, " said Mrs. Pitt, pointing to it with herumbrella, as she spoke. "There's where Lady Jane Grey was imprisoned, and there Sir Walter Raleigh lived during his first stay at the Tower. It was when he was in the Beauchamp Tower, however, that he burnt partof his 'History of the World, ' the work of many years. It happened ina curious way! Do you know the story? He was at his window one morningand witnessed a certain scene which took place in the court beneath. Later, he talked with a friend who had been a nearer spectator of thisidentical scene, and they disagreed entirely as to what passed. Raleigh was very peculiarly affected by this little incident. Hereasoned that if he could be so much mistaken about something whichhad happened under his very eyes, how much more mistaken must he beabout things which occurred centuries before he was born. Theconsequence was that he threw the second volume of his manuscript intothe fire, and calmly watched it burn. Think of the loss to us! PoorRaleigh! He was finally beheaded, and I should think he would havewelcomed it, after so many dreary years of imprisonment. He is buriedin St. Margaret's Church, beside Westminster Abbey, you know. "

"Was there a real palace in the Tower?" inquired Betty, while theyretraced their steps under the Bloody Tower and back toward theentrance. "Isn't there any of it remaining?"

"Yes, there was a palace here once, for royalty lived in the Towerthrough the reign of James I. No part of it now exists, however. Itstood over beyond the White Tower, in a part which visitors are notnow allowed to see. "

On a hill just outside the Tower, in the center of a large, barrensquare, is a little inclosed park with trees and shrubbery. Here stoodthe scaffold where almost all of the executions were held. The placeis now green and fruitful, but it is said that on the site of thescaffold within the Tower, grass cannot be made to grow. 

As they walked toward a station of the "Tube, " an underground railway, John suddenly heaved a great sigh of relief and exclaimed:

"Well, I tell you what! I've learned heaps, but I don't want to hearanything more about executions for a few days! What do you all say?"

CHAPTER SIX

ST. PAUL'S CATHEDRAL AND ITS VICINITY

When Betty came down to her breakfast the following morning, she foundher plate heaped with letters and fascinating little parcels ofdifferent shapes. For a moment she looked puzzled, then she exclaimed:

"Oh! I know! It's my birthday, and I'm having such a splendid timesight-seeing, that I had forgotten all about it! How lovely!" as sheglanced again at the presents. 

"See, John!" she cried, opening the first package, which had anAmerican postmark, "see what mother has sent me! It is such a prettytan leather cover, with little handles, to put on my Baedeker. Youknow I always carry the guidebook, and read about things for Mrs. Pitt. Now, I can keep the book clean, and besides, people can'trecognize me as an American just from seeing my red book! That's afine idea, I think!"

John thought that his sister was not opening the bundles quite fastenough, so he pounced upon one and unwrapped it for her. 

"This long thing is father's gift, Betty. It's an umbrella, of course, and a fine one! Here's a card which says, 'Knowing that two umbrellascould never be amiss in England, I send this. ' Do you suppose heguessed that you'd lost yours?"

After the bundles were all opened, the letters hurriedly devoured, andBetty had at last settled down to eating her cold breakfast, Mrs. Pittsaid:

"I had not decided exactly what we would do to-day, and now I thinkI'll let the birthday girl plan. Where will you go, Betty?"

After due consideration, Betty announced that she would choose tovisit St. Paul's Cathedral, and afterwards, by way of contrast, tohave lunch at the Cheshire Cheese. 

"What in the world's that?" inquired John. 

Mrs. Pitt laughed. "You'll see, for we'll go there, as Betty suggests, when we have seen St. Paul's. I'm not sure whether you'll care to havelunch there, but we'll look in, at any rate. It's rather differentfrom the places where you are accustomed to take your lunch! No, youmust wait, John! I'm not going to tell you any more about it!"

"What a beautiful day!" Betty cried, taking her seat on the bus alittle later. "I do wish it wouldn't always be so windy, though! Ialmost lost my hat then!"

"As you stay longer in London, you'll notice that a really clear dayis almost always a very windy one as well. We Londoners have to acceptthe two together, " Mrs. Pitt told the visitors. 

Leaving Trafalgar Square, the bus carried them by Charing CrossStation, in front of which is a copy of the old Charing Cross. EdwardI, when his queen, Eleanor of Castile, died, put up many crosses inher memory, each one marking a spot where her body was set down duringits journey to Westminster Abbey for burial. A little farther along, the bus passed the odd little church of St. Mary-le-Strand, which ison an "island" in the middle of that wide street and its great busy, hurrying traffic. It is good to remember that on that very spot, themaypole once stood. Narrow side streets lead off the Strand, andlooking down them one may see the river, and understand why thestreet was so named. It originally ran along by the bank of theThames, and the splendid houses of the nobles lined the way. 

"These fine stone buildings on our left are the new Law Courts, andthe griffin in the center of the street marks the position of oldTemple Bar. There! We've passed it, and now we are in Fleet Street. Temple Bar was the entrance to the 'City, ' you know. To this day theKing cannot proceed into the 'City' without being first received atTemple Bar, by the Lord Mayor. At one time, the city of Londoncomprised a small area (two and a quarter miles from end to end), andwas inclosed by walls and entered by gates. Originally there were butfour gates, --Aldgate, Aldersgate, Ludgate, and Bridgegate. Think whata small city it was then! It is curious to know that in spite of that, there were then one hundred and three churches in London. The realcenter of life for centuries was at 'Chepe, ' or Cheapside, as it isnow called. You'll see it later. "

[Illustration: "THE KING CANNOT PROCEED INTO THE 'CITY' WITHOUT BEINGFIRST RECEIVED AT TEMPLE BAR BY THE LORD MAYOR. "--_Page 68. _]

Betty had been looking eagerly, even while she listened to what Mrs. Pitt was saying. Her eyes now rested upon an old church, over thedoor of which stood a queer, blackened statue of a queen. 

"The church is St. Dunstan's, " responded Mrs. Pitt again. "That oldstatue of Queen Elizabeth is one of the few things which escaped thegreat fire in the reign of Charles II. The figure once stood on theancient Lud Gate of the city. They say that it was in the church-yardof St. Dunstan's that John Milton sold his wonderful poem of 'ParadiseLost' for five pounds. "

"Let's see, --that would be twenty-five dollars, wouldn't it? I haven'tyour English money clear in my mind yet, " John confided to Philip. "Ican't somehow feel that it's real money unless it's in dollars andcents. "

Philip soon pointed to a little alley-way on their left, and said, "The Cheshire Cheese is in a little court back of there. You can'tthink how many buildings, courts, and alleys are hidden in behind allof these shops. Some of the old inns, or coffee-houses, which werefamous are (or were) there. Now, here's Ludgate Hill, and in a minuteyou'll have a view of St. Paul's. "

St. Paul's Cathedral stands on a hill, and because of its positionand huge dome it is the most conspicuous of London's landmarks. But, because of the closely surrounding buildings, it is much hidden fromnear view. As the bus mounted Ludgate Hill, having passed under therailroad-bridge, they suddenly saw the tremendous cathedral looming upbefore them. 

They paused for a moment by the statue of Queen Anne, in front of themain entrance, while Mrs. Pitt, following her delightful habit, reminded them of certain notable facts. 

"No one knows exactly how long there has been a church upon thissite, " she began, beckoning them closer to her, as the noise of thetraffic was so great, "but Bede, the oldest historian, says that achapel was built here by a Saxon king, before the time of the Romans. When Sir Christopher Wren, the architect, built this present edifice, after the great fire of 1666, he found relics of three periods, --theSaxon, the British, and the Roman. St. Paul's has been burned fivetimes. The last fire (the one of which I just spoke) destroyed thechurch which we know as 'old St. Paul's. ' Now, let's go in, for thereis much to be seen. "

Next to St. Peter's at Rome, St. Paul's in London is the largestchurch, in the world. The first impression a person gets is one ofgreat vastness and bareness, for, unlike Westminster Abbey, here onedoes not encounter at every step famous statues, memorials, andgraves. The nave is tremendous in width and in length. Chapels openfrom both sides, but they seem far off and shadowy. Way in thedistance is the choir, the altar, and the group of chairs used atservices. Everything is quiet, empty, and bare. 

"I never imagined such a huge church!" said Betty, much impressed. "Ifeel lost and cold, somehow. What are you thinking, Mrs. Pitt? I'msure we'd all like to hear. "

"I was just picturing, as I always do when I come here, the scenes thenave of old St. Paul's presented in Henry VIII's time. Would you liketo hear? Well, in the sixteenth century, this nave was called 'Paul'sWalke, ' and it was a place of business. Yes, " she assured them, asJohn and Betty exclaimed, "down these aisles were booths wheremerchants of all kinds sold their wares. Counters were built aroundthe pillars, and even the font was used by the vendors. Pack-horsesladen with merchandise streamed always in and out, and crowds ofpeople elbowed their way about, shouting and gesticulating excitedly. "

"But didn't they have any services at all in St. Paul's Cathedral?"asked Betty wonderingly. 

"Oh, yes!" continued Mrs. Pitt, "the services went on just the same. The people were used to the noise and confusion. Here came the tailorsto look at the fine new clothes which the young dandies wore when theytook their morning promenades. All the latest books and poems werealways to be found on sale here. Bishop Earle wrote 'Paul's Walke--youmay cal--the lesser Ile of Great Brittaine. The noyse in it is likethat of Bees, in strange hummings, or buzze, mixt of walking, tongues, and feet; it is a kind of still roare, or loud whisper. '

"I am glad to be able to say, however, " she continued, "that beforethat dreadful period, there was a time when the cathedral was not sodishonored. Once these walls were covered with valuable shrines, pictures, and tapestries, and costly jewels glittered everywhere. There was one huge emerald which was said to cure diseases of theeyes. Here came John Wycliffe, the great reformer, at the summons ofthe Archbishop of Canterbury, to answer for the publication of his newdoctrines. Here, Henry of Bolingbroke prayed for his successfulseizure of the throne, and here he also wept over the grave of hisfather, John of Gaunt. Sir Philip Sidney was buried here, and hisfather-in-law, Sir Francis Walsingham, Queen Elizabeth's secretary;and there was a magnificent monument to Sir Christopher Hatton, LordChancellor, but these were all destroyed by the Great Fire. "

About the aisles and nave are many monuments to great soldiers, sailors, painters, statesmen, literary men, and others. Most of themare very ugly, and our party did not linger long over these. Afterwalking under the dome, and looking up into its tremendous heights, they went down into the crypt, which is really the most interestingpart of the cathedral. 

The crypt is vast, dark, and gloomy. Other parties may be heardwalking about and talking in the distance, without being seen, andtheir voices echo strangely. In the "Painters' Corner, " Sir JoshuaReynolds, West, Lawrence, Landseer, and Turner, all famous artists, lie buried beneath the pavement. Sir Christopher Wren, surrounded bymembers of his family, lies under the dome, as was his wish. LordNelson and the Duke of Wellington both have splendid tombs there. 

"These are all we now have of the monuments of the old cathedral, "remarked Mrs. Pitt, pointing to where in a corner some mutilatedfigures, heads, and broken monuments lay, all in a heap. 

John was delighted when it was proposed to climb up into the dome, andto test the "Whispering Gallery, " on the way. It seemed an endlessclimb up the spiral stairs, and Mrs. Pitt, Barbara, and Betty laggedbehind. When they finally came out into the great round gallery, thetwo boys were over on the opposite side. Betty, after waving to them, sat down on a bench against the wall, and suddenly she heard John'svoice, saying "Glad to see you at last!" She put her lips to the walland whispering an answer, found that John could hear her, too. Theywere having quite a lengthy conversation, holding first their lips tothe wall to speak, and then their ears to listen, when Mrs. Pittinterrupted them. 

"That's great fun, but we have still a hard climb before us, " shereminded them. "I think we had better go on. "

The remainder of the way was much more difficult, as the steps weresteeper and narrower than ever, but they at last emerged on the littleplatform, running around the top of the dome. 

"My, what a view!" they cried. 

"Yes, you're the first visitors in many a day who could see so far, "the man in charge told them. 

If the terrible black smoke which comes from the hundreds of chimneys, and the fog permit one to see it all, the view is truly fine. It isespecially interesting to trace the river in its various curves, andto pick out the many bridges which span it. Another striking featureis the immense number of spires. The guide pointed out the churches tothem, and also the different parts of the city. 

"If you thought it was windy on the bus, Betty, I wonder what you callthis, " exclaimed Barbara, grasping her hat with both hands. "I'm goingdown now. "

The others were quite ready to follow, and they wound their way down, down, down, until they stood again on the main floor, under the dome. 

"This is called St. Paul's Church-yard, " said Mrs. Pitt, leading theway around back of the cathedral. "This used to be a very busy place. St. Paul's School was here, within the yard, as well as many shops. The first printer who produced books for children had his shop in thiscorner. In the days when the interior of the building was put to suchdreadful uses, the outside was treated quite as badly. Shops of allkinds were built up against the cathedral, and sometimes the noisewhich the carpenters made greatly disturbed those at the servicewithin. It must have been shocking indeed! It is said that for a verysmall sum, the sexton would allow boys to climb up and ring the bellsas much as they liked; and, on the day of Queen Mary's coronation, shesaw a Dutchman standing on the weather-vane, waving a flag. "

"My! I'd like to have seen that!" cried John, to whom such gymnasticfeats appealed. 

While they walked back to the Cheshire Cheese, Mrs. Pitt explained tothem what St. Paul's Cathedral once comprised. 

"In the London of the Middle Ages, the Church ruled supreme, " she toldthem. "At least one-fourth of the entire city was owned by thechurches and the religious houses. To carry on the monasteries andchurches, a tremendous number of people were necessary. At St. Paul's, in 1450, there were:

 The bishop, Four archdeacons, The treasurer, The precentor, The chancellor, Thirty greater canons, Twelve lesser canons, Fifty chaplains, and Thirty vicars. 

These were of the higher rank; there were innumerable others of lowerrank, such as the master of the singing-school, the binder, and thetranslator. The brewer, in 1286, brewed 67, 814 gallons, and the bakerbaked about 40, 000 loaves. This gives one a little idea of what itmeant to conduct a cathedral in those days of the all-powerfulChurch. "

Between the poor shops of Fleet Street, open many little passages, andthese lead into tiny courts and winding alleys. The entrance to one ofthem is marked with the sign, "Wine Office Court. " Directly off fromthis narrow, dark alley stands the famous Cheshire Cheese, the onlygenuine old-time tavern or "coffee-house" which still existsunchanged. It is a little, low building, with quaint bow-window ofsquare panes. 

"Why, we can't all get in there, can we?" laughed John, as Mrs. Pittstepped inside. The door is very small, and the hallway was so crowdedby curious visitors, and by jostling, pushing waiters, that it did notseem possible for another person to enter. They managed, however, toelbow their way through the crowd into the celebrated "coffee-room"itself. 

That "coffee-room" is splendid! The ceiling is very low, and the wallsare wainscoted in dark wood. Although the room is so small, there arenumerous long tables, and old-fashioned, high-backed settles. Oneseat, in the corner farthest from the door, is marked with a littletablet, telling us that there was Dr. Johnson's chosen place. Severalpictures of that noted gentleman adorn the walls. It always seemsvery much out of keeping with the quaintness of the room, to find itfull of laughing, chattering Americans. A few quiet English clerkscome there for their noon meal, but the majority of the patrons of theCheshire Cheese are the tourists. 

"There's nothing to do but to wait here until we can get seats, " saidMrs. Pitt; so they all remained standing in the middle of the floor, directly in the path of the waiters, until finally some seats werefree, and they slid into one of the long benches which extend downeach side of the tables, placed endwise to the wall. 

"Are you sorry you proposed coming here?" Mrs. Pitt asked Betty, watching with amusement her crest-fallen face as she saw the soiledlinen, and untidy look of the entire table. 

"Oh, no, " Betty answered doubtfully, "only I guess people come heremore because Dr. Johnson did, than because they like it. "

Mrs. Pitt laughed. "That's very true, " she said. "The service isn'texactly prompt, either. We've already waited quite fifteen minutes, Iam sure. I ordered lark pie and Cheshire cheese for you, of course. Every one takes them on his first visit here. "

The lark pie was Dr. Johnson's favorite dish, but that fact does notsuffice to make it very enjoyable. Betty frankly confessed that shecould not manage to eat hers, but John pretended to be veryindustrious over his, although he did a good deal of looking about theroom and commenting upon things he saw. 

"There's even sawdust on the floor, " he announced jubilantly. "Did youever! My! How hot and stuffy it is here! Were all old inns just likethis, Mrs. Pitt?"

"Yes, pretty much so, I think, " was the response. "There were ever somany of them, you know, and each was frequented by a certain class ofmen. For instance, there was the 'British Coffee-house, ' where all theScotch visitors went; there was 'Robin's, ' which was noted for itsforeign bankers and ambassadors; and there was 'Dolly's Chophouse, 'where the wits congregated. Most of the famous clubs held theirmeetings at one or another of the 'coffee-houses, ' too. The 'SpectatorClub' met at 'Button's Coffee-house, ' and there the 'Spectator Papers'had their beginnings. There Addison, Steele, Pope, and others, spenttheir leisure hours. Some of the London clubs of the eighteenthcentury had very queer names!" she continued. "There was the 'UglyClub, ' the 'Quack Club, ' the 'Beefsteak Club, ' the 'Split-FarthingClub, ' and the 'Small Coalmen's Music Club, ' for example. Here, at theCheshire Cheese, Goldsmith often came with Dr. Johnson. Can't youimagine the two sitting over at that table, with Boswell not far away, patiently listening, quill in hand? Dr. Johnson was very careless anduntidy, you know, and invariably spilled his soup. It was he who usedto walk up and down Fleet Street touching every post he passed!"

All this time they had been waiting for their cheese. When it finallycame, it proved to be much better than the lark pie. The cheese isserved in little three-cornered tins, and is poured hot over crisppieces of toast. 

When they had finished, they went up the winding stairs to see theroom where the famous "Literary Club" used to meet. Dr. Johnson'schair is preserved there. 

"Didn't Dr. Johnson live near here, too, Mother?" asked Barbara, asthey came out again into the court. 

"Yes, I believe he lived in both Johnson and Bolt Courts, " Mrs. Pitttold them. "His haunts were all about here. In number six, over there, Goldsmith is said to have written 'The Vicar of Wakefield. '"

From there, they walked up Fleet Street, discussing their unusuallunch as they went. They had all enjoyed it, --even Betty. 

She made them all laugh, however, by announcing seriously, "I'm glad Iwent, but I think it is just about as nice to read about lunchingthere, as to really do it. And then, you wouldn't be quite so hungryafterwards!"

CHAPTER SEVEN

A SUNDAY NIGHT CHAT

It was Sunday afternoon, and the time for John and Betty to send theirweekly letters home. The day was a beautiful one in early spring, thegrass and trees in the garden behind the house were very green, birdswere singing outside, people were continually walking by, and theletters progressed but slowly. Every few moments Betty stole a glanceout-of-doors, and John sat leaning his elbow on the desk chewing theend of his penholder, while he gazed steadily out of the window. 

"Well, what do you think of it all, John?" asked Betty thoughtfully. "Aren't we glad we came, and aren't Mrs. Pitt and Barbara and Philipgood to us?"

"Just splendid!" exclaimed John most emphatically. He had turned awayfrom the window now, and was entering earnestly into the conversation. "I just tell you what, Betty, it's a different thing to peg away atan old, torn history-book at school, and to come over here and seethings and places, while Mrs. Pitt tells you about them! Why, Ihonestly like English history the way we're learning it now!"

Betty smiled in an elder-sisterly fashion. "Well, I always did like tostudy history, but it surely makes it nicer and easier to do it thisway. But besides that, John, don't you think it's queer and veryinteresting to see the way the English do things--all their customs, Imean. They're so different from ours! Why, when I first saw Barbarathat day at the train, I thought it was the funniest thing that herhair was all hanging loose down her back. I wouldn't think of being sobabyish! I thought perhaps she'd lost off her ribbon maybe, but she'sworn it that way ever since. And her little sailor-hat looks socountrified as she has it, --'way down over her ears!"

[Illustration: "I'D FEEL LIKE 'LITTLE LORD FAUNTLEROY' GOING AROUNDWITH THOSE CLOTHES ON!"--_Page 84. _]

"I know it; it seemed mighty funny to me to see Philip's black suitwith the long trousers, his broad collar, and skimpy short coat! It'swhat all the boys at the Eton School wear, he says. They must feellike fools! Why, I'd feel like--like--'Little Lord Fauntleroy' goingaround with those clothes on all the time!" John's voice was full ofscorn, yet his eyes twinkled with fun. "But, the high hat, just likefather's opera-hat, which Philip wears, beats it all!" he continued. "I'm so used to it now, though, that I don't think of it any more. It's queer how soon you get used to things! It's just like ridingalong the streets, and keeping to the left instead of to the right. The first time I rode in a hansom (you weren't there that day, Betty)and we suddenly turned a corner, keeping close to the left curb, Ipoked open the little door in the roof and shouted, 'Hey there!Mister! You'll bump into something if you don't look out!' The driverjust stared; he didn't seem to know what I was talking about. "

"Yes, " went on Betty in her turn, "keeping to the left did seem queerat first. You know, John, how often we have wished that Dan and theautomobile were over here. Honestly, I think Dan would surely have anaccident! He never could remember to keep to the left! Now, we simplymust go on with our letters! Begin when I say three! One--two--(hurry, John, you haven't dipped your pen!), three!" and both commenced towrite industriously. 

The letters were finally finished just as the tea-bell rang. Betty ranto wash her hands, and then they went down to the library, where teawas served every afternoon that they were at home. 

"Why! I quite like tea over here!" Betty remarked. "I never drink itat home! Mother would be so surprised if she saw me! Do all Englishpeople drink it every afternoon as you do, Mrs. Pitt?"

"Yes, it seems to go with the English people, somehow. We'd quite assoon think of doing without our breakfast or dinner as ourfour-o'clock-tea. You've noticed, my dear, how I always manage to getmy tea at some little shop when we are on one of our sight-seeingtours. Really, I am quite lost without it! Oh! it's just a habit, ofcourse. " As she spoke, Mrs. Pitt poured herself another cup. 

When the tea things had been removed, and a fire was lighted, storieswere called for. 

"Tell us some of the stories you know about different places and oldcustoms, Mother, " urged Barbara. 

"Very well, " said Mrs. Pitt willingly. "Let--me--see! You remember, don't you, having the guide point out London Bridge to you, from thetop of St. Paul's, day before yesterday? That's the oldest bridge, youknow, for it seems to have existed as long ago as we know anything ofLondon itself. But legend has it that before there was any bridge overthe Thames, people crossed in a ferry which was run by a certain JohnOvers. This man naturally became rich, as very many people were alwayspaying him for taking them across the river, but he was a great miser. The ferryman had one fair daughter about whom he was as miserly as hewas with his money, --keeping her shut up out of reach of her lover. One day, John Overs thought he would like to save the cost ofproviding food for his household, so he pretended to be dead. Heexpected that his servants would fast in consequence, as was theancient custom; but so great was their joy when they thought theirmaster dead, that they all began to dance, to make merry together, andto feast upon all they found in the house. The old miser stood thisjust as long as he could, and then he sprang up to lay hands uponthem. The servants fled, believing that it was somethingsupernatural--all except one, who, more daring than the rest, killedhis master with his weapon. So old John did die after all, but in anunexpected way. 

"Part the second of my story tells of how the monks of a neighboringabbey finally consented to bury the body; when the abbot returned, however, he was very angry at what they had done, and gave the friarssome orders. They dug up the body of the poor old boatman, tied it tothe back of an ass, and turned the animal loose. The body was finallythrown off at the place of public execution (directly under thegallows), and there it was buried and remained. Meanwhile thedaughter, Mary, was having more trouble. Immediately upon the death ofher father, she had sent for her lover, but in coming to her, he hadbeen thrown off his horse and killed. This was too much for theunfortunate girl, who decided to retire to a nunnery, leaving herentire fortune to found the church of 'St. Mary Overy. ' That is thereal name of the church now known as Southwark Cathedral, which standsjust across London Bridge. Now, how do you like that story?"

[Illustration: "YOU REMEMBER, DON'T YOU, HAVING THE GUIDE POINT OUTLONDON BRIDGE?"--_Page 86. _]

"Great!" exclaimed John. "Whoever thought that up had a vividimagination, all right!"

"Why, don't you believe it, John?" said Betty, who always tookeverything most seriously. 

When they were quiet again, Mrs. Pitt talked on. 

"London Bridge, up to the time of the Great Fire, was crowded withhouses, you know, and there was even a chapel there. Over the gate atthe Southwark end of the bridge, the heads of traitors were exhibitedon the ends of long poles. Here Margaret Roper, whom you met at theTower, came, bargained for, and at last secured the head of herfather, Sir Thomas More. But, to go back to the houses! Hans Holbein, the painter, and John Bunyan, the poet, are both said to have residedon London Bridge. I also like the story which tells of a famous winemerchant, named Master Abel, who had his shop there. Before his door, he set up a sign on which was the picture of a bell, and under it werewritten the words, 'Thank God I am Abel. ' Here's a picture of oldLondon Bridge. Imagine how quaint it must have looked crowded by thesepicturesque old houses, and with its streets filled with travelers. All those entering London from the south came across that bridge, which was consequently a great thoroughfare. Near the Southwark sideof the bridge is where the Tabard Inn stood--the inn from which theCanterbury Pilgrims set out; and near the bank, known as Bankside inthose days, was the celebrated Globe Theatre, connected withShakespeare and his associates. The popular Paris Gardens were there, too, where the sport of bear-baiting was seen in Queen Elizabeth'stime. If we went over there, we could see the former sites of thesehistoric places, but they are now covered by unattractive, modernbuildings or great breweries. It's hard to conjure up the GlobeTheatre out of present-day Southwark, " she added with a sigh, as ifshe were speaking to herself. "Not far from the site of the TabardInn, a picturesque, gabled house once stood, in which John Harvard wasborn. Yes, John, that was the man who founded Harvard College, at yourAmerican Cambridge. "

"Yes, and I mean to go there myself some day!" announced John, immediately fired by the familiar name of our oldest university. "Myfather went, you know. "

Mrs. Pitt and the two girls spent the remainder of the evening intalking over plans for the next day, but John's thoughts had beenturned to college, and so he and Philip had a lively time comparingnotes about English and American colleges. 

"Where do you mean to go, Philip?" John inquired. 

"Oh, to Cambridge, of course! My father, his father, and all my familyfor generations back have been to Trinity College, Cambridge. That'sthe largest college in England, and was founded by Henry VIII. Oh, it's jolly there! There are old quadrangles around which the men live;there's a beautiful old chapel, built in the Tudor period; and there'sthe dining-hall. That's grand! Back of the college is the river, theCam. There's a lovely garden there, and over the river on which themen go boating, is an old bridge. I had a cousin who lived in therooms which Byron once occupied. He, Macaulay, Tennyson, Thackeray, Dryden, and many other famous men went there. Oh, it's the onlycollege for me! I shall be there in three years, I hope!"

"Well, Harvard's our oldest college. It was founded by your JohnHarvard almost as soon as Boston itself, and 'Teddy' Roosevelt wentthere! It's good enough for me! The only trouble is that they can'tseem to beat at football, somehow, and I mean to play and see if Ican't help 'em win. That's the only trouble with old Harvard, though, "John said, feeling that he must be loyal to his college in thisinternational discussion; "otherwise she's all right! There's theStadium, where all the big games are played, and there's the CharlesRiver for us to row on. There are loads of fine new buildings, too, and I'd like those better than the old ones. We don't care who livedin 'em! Oh, the fellows at Harvard have a splendid time!"

Mrs. Pitt had overheard some of this conversation with much amusement, for the ideas and ideals of the two boys were so different, and sovery characteristic of each. 

"I think you'd enjoy a visit to Cambridge, John, " she said. "We musttry to manage it. You'd find one of our colleges very unlike yours inAmerica. Both Oxford and Cambridge Universities are made up of manycolleges, you know; at Oxford, there are twenty-two, and at Cambridge, eighteen. Each college has its own buildings, its own professors, itsown chapel and dining-hall, and each college is complete in itself, although they all belong to one university. You would think the rulesvery strict! When the Cambridge men go to chapel, and at otherspecified times, they are required to wear their gowns and queerlittle flat caps, called 'trenchers' or 'mortar-boards. ' At Oxford, the gates of each college are closed at nine o'clock every evening; aman may stay out later (even until twelve), if he can give a goodreason for it. If he remains out all night, though, he is immediatelydismissed. How would you like that?" she laughed, seeing John'sdisgusted expression. "There are men called 'scouts, ' who look afterthe men's rooms, and bring them their breakfast. The students are verycarefully watched, and if one of them stays away from his meals at thedining-hall more than two or three times a week, the affair isinvestigated. "

"My! When we go to college in America, we are men, and can look afterourselves!" John drew himself up very straight, and spoke with greatdignity. "Cambridge may be older and have more--more--'associations, 'but I'd rather go to Harvard. "

CHAPTER EIGHT

WINDSOR CASTLE, STOKE POGES, AND ETON SCHOOL

"It's only a little more than twenty miles out to Windsor, " remarkedMrs. Pitt, one June morning. "Suppose we go in the motor, and then wecan have a glimpse of both Stoke Poges and Eton School, on the way. "

There were always many exclamations of delight at mention of the"motor, " so it was settled, and the party set out at ten o'clock, allin the highest of spirits. It was slow and difficult driving throughthe city streets, but the English chauffeur was quite used to keepingto the left, as well as being perfectly familiar with the rules whichgovern the traffic, so he had none of the accidents which Betty andJohn had prophesied that their father's American chauffeur would notbe able to avoid. Very soon, however, they had reached the suburbs, and then they came into the open country. 

They could go faster now, and the big touring-car sped over thewonderfully smooth roads at a speed which delighted the young people. The weather was proving a bit uncertain. Every little while, a tinyshower descended upon them out of a blue sky full of great whiteclouds, the sun shining warm and bright all the while. 

"Oh, don't let's put up any umbrella, " exclaimed Betty, during one ofthe showers. "Rain never seems to do any harm in England. You don'tget wet, and never mind it a bit. Truly, I like it, for it's so prettyto see it raining with the sun out. There! now, it's stopped again!Just see that lovely rainbow!"

The English country is always beautiful in its individual way, but itis especially so on one of these showery days, when every leaf andflower looks fresher than ever with the rain-drops glistening on it. Now and then, they slowed down while passing through a busy town, where pretty ladies and children in little two-wheeled carts droveabout doing the morning marketing. Most of the way, however, laythrough country roads bordered by green-hedged fields in which theever-present sheep grazed; and here and there were high brick wallsover which the stately, vine-covered homes were just visible. Therewere also picturesque little workmen's cottages at the edge of thewood, and lodges covered with climbing-roses. 

It seemed as though they had only been riding a very short time when, upon emerging from a shady road, they drew up at a little gateway. John felt impatient at having to stop, and looked questioningly aroundat Mrs. Pitt from his place on the front seat. The others were alreadygetting out, he found, and Mrs. Pitt was saying:

"This is Stoke Poges, and I want you to see it, for it's such a lovelyspot. Probably you have all learned in school parts of Gray's 'Elegy, 'and very likely you never cared or thought much about the poem. Evenif that's true, you can't possibly help loving this peaceful, beautiful place, in which it was written. "

[Illustration: THE MOSS-GROWN SAXON PORCH. --_Page 97. _]

They were now walking along a little path which led into thechurch-yard. A straight gravel walk stretches between the graves, upto the ancient church, which is very small, and has one tower closelycovered with ivy. The fine old Saxon porch, and one doorway show greatage; but it is in the whole effect rather than in any detail of thelittle church and its surroundings that the charm lies. One cannotimagine a more quiet, remote spot! On one side is the group ofyew-trees which Gray mentions in the poem, and in their shelter arethe hoary stones which mark the graves of the "rude forefathers of thehamlet. " Standing there, one almost hesitates to speak above a whisperfor fear of arousing something or somebody out of sleep, or ofbreaking the wonderful spell of the place. Pausing under those trees, and feasting one's eyes upon the lovely, rural scene, not a soundreaches the ear except the twitter of the birds, and perhaps the faintjingle of a cow-bell. Mrs. Pitt gave a start at the sound of John'svoice, when he suddenly said:

"Let's go and find Gray's tomb, Philip; the guidebook says it's on theother side of the church. "

The rest lingered for just one more look at the little church, withits vines, and the rich, dark-red brick-work of the moss-grown Saxonporch, which the sun touches lovingly as it filters through the heavyleafage of the yew-trees; then they followed Philip and John. 

Close to the outer wall of the church is a large tomb in which Gray isburied with his beloved mother. No word on the slab tells that thefamous poet is buried within; there is only his mother's epitaph, which Gray wrote, and in which he speaks of himself as "the only childwho had the misfortune to outlive her. "

When Mrs. Pitt came up, John was standing near the tomb with his hatoff, saying, "All right, Mr. Gray; I'll read your poem over again justas soon as ever I get home. "

The bustling, lively scenes of Eton School presented a marked contrastto the quiet of Stoke Poges. Moving about the grounds between thedifferent school-buildings, were dozens of boys all dressed in theregulation Eton suit, such as Philip himself wore. They were laughing, shouting, and playing games, just like other boys, but such actionssomehow seemed out of keeping with their quaint costumes. From theautomobile John looked down upon them, his eyes full of wonder andsurprise. 

"I suppose they are real boys, " he said in a puzzled way, "but theydon't look like them. "

While Philip talked with some of his friends, and John lingered nearthe group, the others visited the beautiful Eton Chapel, and wereespecially interested in the familiar picture of Sir Galahad, whichhangs there. The principal buildings of the school are ranged abouttwo large courts; in the center of the Outer Quadrangle is a bronzestatue of Henry VI, the founder of the school. The library is valuableand contains some costly books and manuscripts. Fox, Peel, Chatham, Wellington, and Shelley were Eton boys, and the latter's autograph maystill be seen on one of the desks. 

As they left Eton and crossed the bridge over the Thames, they dulyadmired the magnificent view of Windsor Castle, which may be enjoyedfrom that point. Above its many roofs and towers stands the greatround keep, the oldest part of the castle, having been built by EdwardIII. 

The castle is on a hill in the center of the town, and the quaint, red-roofed houses reach even to its walls. After passing the statue ofQueen Victoria, the automobile left the party at the entrance to thecastle, through Henry VIII's gateway, carved with the Tudor Rose. Inside, they joined a party and were shown about by a guide. 

They saw so many buildings that John and Betty found it ratherbewildering. In thinking it over afterwards, certain objects remainedmost clearly in their memory. 

"St. George's Chapel is really the most beautiful thing there, ofcourse, " said Betty, as they rode away. "I never saw such carving asthere is on the seats--no, stalls--in the choir! Henry VIII, JaneSeymour, and poor Charles I are buried there, too. I like those fadedbanners and the coats-of-arms which belonged to the Knights of theGarter. The whole place is lovely, I think. There are lots of littlechapels off from it, too, like Westminster Abbey; didn't the guide saythat the tomb of Queen Victoria's father, the Duke of Kent, is there?"

"Yes, " answered Mrs. Pitt, "and I hope you haven't forgotten theAlbert Chapel. It adjoins St. George's, you remember, and we stood inthe doorway when our turn came and looked in. It is very old, and ison the site of an ancient chapel of St. Edward, but Queen Victoriamade it what it is now, and restored it in honor of her husband, Prince Albert. The interior is truly remarkable for its fine marbles, mosaics, sculptures, stained-glass, and precious stones. I fancy theywould not especially appeal to you, however. How did you like theState Apartments? It was fortunate that the Royal Family was not inresidence, so that we could be admitted. "

"Well, " began John, "they made us hurry so that I didn't see verymuch. That guide drove us along as though we were a flock of sheep! Iliked that big room though, where all the portraits of the generalsare. They called it the Waterloo Room, didn't they? Anyway, there weresplendid pictures of Wellington, Metternich, Blücher, and lots ofother fellows. Did you see the busts of Wellington and Marlborough inone of the other rooms, Philip? There are silk flags which hang overboth the busts, and that cross old guide growled out that they arereplaced every year on the anniversaries of the twobattles;--Wellington gets a new flag on June 18th, because of Waterlooin 1815, and Marlborough gets his on August 13th, on account of thebattle of Blenheim in 1704. "

"In that room, " explained Mrs. Pitt, "is where the 'command'theatrical performances are held. When the King hears the report of aplay which he thinks he would like, he simply commands the company tocome to him; and if he happens to be at Windsor, he and the Courtwitness the play in the Waterloo Chamber. Your American Sousa's Bandplayed there once. I saw Betty and Barbara lingering before the largepicture of Charles I and his family. I am glad you liked it, girls, for that's an especial delight of mine. Dear little 'Baby Stuart' isso lovable! That was in the Van Dyck Room, which contains many of thatmaster's works. Those State Apartments are only for the use of Royalguests, you understand, when they come on visits. I always wish thatwe could see the King or Queen's private rooms, don't you? It would beso interesting. What's your favorite part of the castle, Barbara?"

"Oh, I like the terrace better than anything else, " Barbara answered, without a moment's hesitation. "The view of the valley, with the riverand Eton Chapel in the distance, is so pretty! Then, there issomething so stately and impressive about the wide, long terraceitself. I once read that it was Queen Elizabeth's favorite walk, andthere couldn't be a more appropriate place for a queen to choose. Ilike that gateway with E. R. On it, showing that it was built inElizabeth's reign; and it's fun to look up to the little bay-windowwhich is said to have been her room. Then I like the old CurfewTower, too, " she added. 

"Yes, " broke in Mrs. Pitt. "That's one of the gloomiest parts of thewhole castle, in its history as well as in its aspect. Of course, terrible things happened at Windsor just as they did elsewhere; butalthough Windsor dates from a very early period, and figures in thereigns of all the sovereigns, its history contains more of the brightand happy than of the tragic. Down in a miserable, windowless cell inthe lower part of the Curfew Tower, it is wrongly said that Queen AnneBoleyn was put to spend the night before her execution, as you know, and there still remain in the Tower some fearful instruments oftorture. The Horseshoe Cloister near there, is very ancient, and thehouses are delightfully mediæval. Did you look in some of the tinywindows as we passed through? It is said that in a small hall there, in the Horseshoe Cloister, Shakespeare's 'Merry Wives of Windsor' wasfirst produced. "

"Who was it that the guide told us was imprisoned near the RoundTower, and who fell in love with a lady whom he saw walking in thegardens? I have forgotten the names. " It was Betty who spoke, for shehad been quietly thinking over the visit. 

"That was young James of Scotland, whom Henry V caused to be capturedin time of truce, and thrown into prison at Windsor, where he remainedalmost twenty years. The English treated him kindly, however, and hespent his time in studying and watching the lady in the garden, whoafterwards became his queen. "

"Oh! But, really, the stables are best of all!" exclaimed Philip, wholoved horses like a true Briton. "I do like to go there and be shownabout by one of those men in the black suits and yellow vests, and thebright cockades in their silk hats. Once when I was little, one ofthem let me go into a stall and feed some sugar to a splendid greathorse named Black Beauty. I wished I could do it to-day, too! All thecarriages which carry the Court ladies are stupid, I think, but thehorses and ponies are jolly!" whereupon Philip and John went off intoan animated discussion about the horses of the Royal Stables, and howmuch they envied the men who cared for them. 

"Oh, what a sweet little village!" cried Betty, jumping up excitedly, as the automobile slowed down and entered a little narrow lane. 

Chalfont St. Giles is an extremely picturesque, old-time village. Itsthatched-roofed cottages huddle together in a beautiful green valley, and about the edge of a pond where ducks swim, and happy, barefootedchildren play. One of the old houses is a place of interest to many, as the great poet, John Milton, lived there after he fled from Londonat the time of the plague. 

The poet's home is a most primitive cottage with low ceilings, and alittle dark room, lighted by one casement window, in which he may havewritten part of "Paradise Lost. " When standing in that chamber, one isreminded of the well-known picture which shows the blind Miltondictating one of his poems to a daughter. Outside is a delightfulold-fashioned garden in which the largest and reddest of poppies grow, and where it is said that Milton loved to linger. 

"I wish we needn't hurry, " sighed Mrs. Pitt, "but I'm afraid we'll belate to dinner. See, we are short of time already!"

So they quickly took their seats again for the short trip back totown, and drew their wraps about them, as the air had grown chilly. They all felt rather tired, and were silent as they reviewed in mindthe history and scenes of Windsor Castle, one of the most beautifuland certainly the most famous of English royal residences. 

[Illustration: JOHN MILTON LIVED THERE AFTER HE FLED FROMLONDON. --_Page 105. _]

CHAPTER NINE

MORE ABOUT LONDON

"Big Ben, " the great bell on the clock-tower, was just booming tendeep strokes as our party neared the Houses of Parliament. A steadilyrushing stream of people, buses, hansoms, and trucks (not forgettingbicycles, which are still numerous in England), was pouring acrossWestminster Bridge, and swinging around the corner into the widestreet called Whitehall; but in the near vicinity of the graceful, long building, with its pinnacles and spires, in which the Englishlaws are made, all was quiet and few people were moving about. In asquare court from which steps lead down to the river, a sentinel waspacing back and forth. 

"In the days when the Thames was the most used highway of theLondoners, here was probably one of the places where the nobles couldstep on shore from their luxurious barges. " Mrs. Pitt said this asthey were looking down upon the soldier from the street above. 

Close up against one side of the Houses of Parliament is WestminsterHall, with its quaint row of supporting buttresses. This ancientedifice was built by William Rufus, the son of the Conqueror himself. Having entered by St. Stephen's Porch, the usual approach, they wentdown a few steps at the left into this fine old room. It is empty now, and its vastness is unadorned except by some statues of kings andqueens along the sides. 

"This hall, " stated Mrs. Pitt, "was first begun by William Rufus, butit has been restored and added to at various times by many of theother sovereigns. It also formed part of the ancient Palace ofWestminster. I want you to notice especially the oak roof with itsheavy timbers, and unsupported by any columns. It is considered veryfine in its construction, and I think it beautiful, as well. Have youthe guidebook, Philip? Read to us some of the great events of the hallwhile we stand here. "

So Philip began. "Well, some of the earliest meetings of Parliamentwere held here; also, all the kings as far down the line as George IVhave celebrated their coronation feasts in this hall. Here Charles Iwas tried and condemned (there's a brass in the floor which markswhere he stood at the trial), and here Cromwell in royal purple robeswas received as Lord Protector. Some of the others who were tried hereare William Wallace, the Scotch patriot, Sir Thomas More, Sir ThomasWyatt, Guy Fawkes, and the Earls of Essex and Strafford. Until veryrecently the Law Courts adjoined here. "

"Thank you, Philip; now, if you are ready, Betty, we'll go on and seesomething more of this great building. "

It gives one a slight idea of the extent of the huge structure to knowthat therein are one hundred stairways and eleven hundred rooms!Visitors are shown the "King's Robing-room, " the "Victoria or RoyalGallery, " the "Prince's Chamber, " and so many rooms and corridors, that it is impossible to remember them all, or even to appreciate themat the time of a visit. Fine wall paintings, statues, and richdecorations of all kinds abound. Both the rooms where sit the House ofPeers and the House of Commons, respectively, are magnificentapartments; perhaps the former is rather more splendid in appearance, with its stained-glass windows picturing all the English sovereigns, its frescoes, and throne, with the gilded canopy. 

As they finally passed out and started over toward Westminster Abbey, Mrs. Pitt said:

"It was at one of these entrances (perhaps at the very one by which wejust left), that a most curious thing happened in 1738. It had justbeen decided that ladies should no longer be permitted in thegalleries of the Houses. Certain noble dames who were most indignantat this new rule, presented themselves in a body at the door. Theywere, of course, politely refused admission, and having tried everyknown means of gaining entrance, they remained at the door all day, kicking and pounding from time to time. Finally, one of them thoughtof the following plan. For some time they stood there in perfectquiet; some one within opened a door to see if they were really gone, whereupon they all rushed in. They remained in the galleries until the'House rose, ' laughing and tittering so loudly that Lord Hervey made agreat failure of his speech. Wasn't that absurd? It seems that therewere 'Suffragettes' long before the twentieth century. "

Arrived at the Poets' Corner once again, they found that one of thevergers was just about to conduct a party "in behind the scenes, " asBarbara called it. "Behind the scenes" includes the Chapel of HenryVII and that of Edward the Confessor, besides the many smaller oneswhich surround the choir. 

These little irregular chapels are crowded with all sorts of tombs, from those of the long effigy to those of the high canopy. Sometimes ahusband and wife are represented on the tomb, their figures eitherkneeling side by side, or facing each other. Often the sons anddaughters of the deceased are shown in quaint little reliefs extendingall around the four sides of a monument. The figures are of alabasteror marble, and there are frequently fine brasses on them which bearthe inscriptions. It is interesting to remember that the effigy orreclining figure of a Crusader always has the legs crossed. 

A flight of black marble steps leads up to Henry VII's Chapel. Bettythought this reminded her a little of the choir of St. George's Chapelat Windsor, --and it is true that the two are somewhat similar. Tobuild this memorial to himself, Henry VII tore down another chapel, and also an old house in which the poet Chaucer once lived. Theloveliest feature of this chapel is the "fan-tracery" of the ceiling. Its delicacy and grace are very beautiful! There are wonderfullycarved oak choir-stalls here also, each having been assigned to acertain Knight of the Order of the Bath, and decorated with theKnight's armorial bearings. Above each stall is a sword and a bannerof faded colors. The tomb of the founder, Henry VII, and of his wife, Elizabeth of York, is in the center of the chapel, and surrounded by abrass screen. George II and several members of his family, Edward VI, Charles II, William and Mary, Queen Anne and her consort, andCromwell, are all buried near by--most of them having no monuments. Inthe north aisle of this chapel is the tomb of the great QueenElizabeth, and just opposite it, in the south aisle, is that of hercousin and enemy, poor Mary Queen of Scots. 

Just behind the high altar is the chapel of Edward the Confessor, containing the once splendid, mediæval tomb of that sainted King. Itsprecious stones have been stolen away now, and the whole is coveredby a gorgeous cloth put there at the coronation of Edward VII. 

"I've seen the tombs of so many kings and queens, " exclaimed John, heaving a sigh, "that I truly can't take in any more. Why, they're sothick all around here that you can't move without bumping into threeor four of 'em! There's Henry V, and overhead the shield and helmet heused at Agincourt; and here's Edward I, and Richard II, and EdwardIII, and Queen Eleanor, and Queen Philippa. Who was she? Oh, here'sthe old Coronation Chair, isn't it?" At sight of this, he once morebecame interested. 

This famous old chair was made in the time of Edward I, and everyEnglish sovereign since that day has been crowned in it. Underneaththe seat of the chair is kept the ancient Stone of Scone, which issaid to have been used as a pillow by the patriarch Jacob. Edward I, in 1297, brought the stone from Scotland as a sign of his power overthat country, and placed it in the Abbey. King Edward III's sword andshield-of-state stand beside the chair. There is something about thesethree objects which makes one stand long before them. They are soancient--so deeply impressive--and embody so much of English historyitself. 

In a little room above one of the smaller chapels are found thecurious Wax Effigies. These figures made of wax, and of life size, were carried at funerals, and were intended to look like the deceased, and dressed in their clothes. They are very ghastly, robed in theirfaded, torn garments, as each peers out from its glass-case. QueenElizabeth, Charles II, William and Mary, Queen Anne, General Monk, William Pitt, and Lord Nelson are among those represented. 

Betty stood before the figure of Queen Elizabeth, whose waxen face ispinched and worn, and really most horrible to look at. 

"Didn't she die propped up on the floor in all her State robes?" askedBetty. 

"Yes, " was Mrs. Pitt's reply. "It isn't any wonder that she lookedlike that, is it? She is said to have been beautiful in her youth, butlater, she became so very ugly that her ladies-in-waiting got falselooking-glasses, for they didn't dare to allow their mistress to seeher wrinkles. "

[Illustration: "OH, HERE'S THE OLD CORONATION CHAIR, ISN'T IT?"--_Page113. _]

After lingering for a short time in the grand old Abbey, they allmounted a bus and rode down to Bishopsgate Street to take lunch, atCrosby Hall. [A] This splendid old example of a London mediæval palace(having had a varied career since its great days), is now turned intoa restaurant, and our party took seats at a long table in what wasonce the Banqueting-hall. 

[Footnote A: Crosby Hall was taken down in 1908, but is soon to bere-erected in Chelsea, near the site of the home of Sir Thomas More. ]

"This is really a very historic old house, " declared Mrs. Pitt. "Itwas built in 1470 by Alderman Sir John Crosby, who died about the timeit was finished, and it passed into the hands of the Duke ofGloucester, afterwards Richard III. Here, that cruel man had the newsof the successful murder of the little Princes in the Tower, and hereheld his great feasts--in this room, I suppose. "

They were all looking about at the lofty hall with its carved oakceiling, minstrels' gallery, stained-glass windows, and largefireplace. 

"This has recently all been restored, and I suppose it gives us a veryslight idea of its past glory. Later on, Sir Thomas More lived here, and then Philip Sidney's sister, the Countess of Pembroke, owned it. Shakespeare mentions it in his play of 'Richard III, ' you know. Inmediæval times, there were many great houses in London (Baynard'sCastle and Cold Harbour foremost among them), but all except a littlepart of Crosby Hall have disappeared. The owners of these houses, thewealthy nobles, lived in great magnificence, having four, six, or eveneight hundred servants. Just fancy how large the establishments musthave been! In Queen Elizabeth's day, the French Ambassador was lodgedhere with four hundred retainers. At that time, there were more greatpalaces in London than there were in Verona, Florence, Venice, andGenoa, all counted together; but instead of being situated on theGrand Canal or in a spacious square, the English palaces stood innarrow, filthy streets, surrounded by the poor hovels of the commonpeople. --It seems to me that our lunch is a long time coming, " shecommented. 

Adjoining Crosby Hall is a very interesting church--St. Helen's, whichhas been called the "Westminster Abbey of the City, " because of famouscitizens of "the City, " who are buried there. Among them is Sir ThomasGresham, the great merchant of Queen Elizabeth's reign, who foundedthe Royal Exchange, and did much to increase London's trade. Thechurch--dating mostly from the thirteenth to the fifteenth century--isvery quaint and old. It consists of two parallel naves, divided bypillars. 

"The church was once connected with an ancient nunnery which coveredthe whole square outside. The naves were originally quite separated bya partition; one side was used by the nuns, and the other by theregular members of the parish. Shakespeare once lived in St. Helen'sparish, and is charged up on the church books with a sum of somethingover five pounds. " Mrs. Pitt gave this information as they walkedabout, gradually growing accustomed to the dim light. 

"See here, John, " whispered Philip; "here's something interesting. It's this little square hole in the wall, which is called the 'nuns'squint. ' That woman, whom I suppose is the caretaker, has just beentelling me what that means. You see, the nunnery was on this side, or, at any rate, the part where the nuns slept. When a nun was dying, therest would carry her to that little 'squint, ' and in that way shecould look through to the church and see the altar. "

Leaving St. Helen's Place, and passing the picturesque, narrow façade(or front) of Crosby Hall, Mrs. Pitt took them along Cheapside, one ofthe most crowded streets of the city. The amount of traffic istremendous there, and it is said that sometimes teams are held eighthours in the alleys before they can get out. They noted Bow Church, and the site of John Gilpin's house at the corner of Paternoster Row. 

"Oh, is that the John Gilpin in Cowper's poem?" cried John, excitedly. "He lived here, did he? And where did he ride to?"

"I believe he went out through Tottenham and Edmonton. Mrs. Gilpin wasat the Bell Inn at Edmonton when she saw her husband fly by. Over theentrance at the Bell is such a funny picture of the scene! They don'tknow just where he went, do they, Mother?" inquired Barbara. 

"No, I rather think not, " was Mrs. Pitt's laughing answer. "Let's walkthrough Paternoster Row, now. The little bookshops are so old andquaint! For centuries the booksellers have been loyal to thislocality, but I hear that they are beginning to move elsewhere now. Here's Amen Corner, and Ave Maria Lane is not far away. In London, there's a reason for the name of almost every street. The monks, inwalking from the river to St. Paul's, used to be telling their beadsand reciting their prayers all the while. You see, the Ave Maria wassaid at this point, and back at the corner came an Amen. In oldendays, the makers of rosaries and paternosters had their shops in thelittle street we have just left, as well as the booksellers. Thestreets leading off Cheapside show what business was carried on there;for instance, on the south side are Bread, Candles, Soap, Fish, andMoney-changing; and on the north side are Wood, Milk, Iron, Honey, andPoultry. By the by, the poet Milton was born in Bread Street. Theironmongers congregated in Ironmongers Lane; the vintners orwine-merchants were in the Vintry; and the makers of hosiery inHosiery Lane. Now we'll go to Chancery Lane, and pay a short visit tothe Record Office, for there are some things there which I want you tosee. "

The Public Record Office is a modern building, constructed for thepurpose of keeping the valuable State documents and archives, which, during the present reign, have been moved from the Tower and theChapter House of Westminster Abbey. The different departments ofgovernment are continually handing over to the Record Office paperswhich are no longer needed for daily use. Among the intenselyinteresting treasures of this museum are the logbooks of the RoyalNavy, and dispatches from Marlborough, Wellington, and others. Thereare State papers of Wolsey, and Thomas Cromwell, and letters of allthe kings and queens, as well as of Chaucer, the Black Prince, Raleighat the Tower, Lady Jane Grey as Queen, Sir Philip Sidney on hisdeath-bed, and many, many others of equal interest. 

"Why, you'd need a whole week to see all these!" exclaimed Betty, looking up from her examination of a paper containing the confessionsof Guy Fawkes. 

Mrs. Pitt glanced at her quickly. She was excited, and her face wasflushed. 

"Yes, and we must not stay any longer, for we have seen enough for oneday. I want to show you just one more thing before we go, however, andthis is more wonderful than all the rest. See, it is the greatDoomsday Book!"

Carefully kept under glass, in cases furnished with dark shades topull over when the books are not being examined, are the two largevolumes of what is known as the "Doomsday Book. " On the ancient, yellowed parchment pages, and in strange old characters, are therecords, made at the time of William the Conqueror, of the disposal ofthe lands of England among his Norman nobles. It is simply impossibleto believe that it is authentic, --that such a very ancient relicreally can exist!

They soon felt tired and ready to leave any further examination of thepapers until another visit, however. There are times when allsight-seers, no matter how enthusiastic, come to a point where forthat day they can appreciate no more. So our party adjourned to alittle tea-shop in Regent Street, and afterwards, to make a fewpurchases at that fascinating shop, --Liberty's. 

CHAPTER TEN

RICHMOND AND HAMPTON COURT PALACE

"Well, I really don't care much how long the boat is in coming, "exclaimed Betty delightedly. "It's such fun to watch all the otherboats going up and down the river, and to look up at busy WestminsterBridge!"

Our friends were at the little landing in the shadow of theabove-mentioned bridge, awaiting the arrival of the steamer which wasto carry them to Kew Gardens. It was early morning, and the distantroar of the traffic from the great bridge above reached them togetherwith the shrill whistles of all the different river craft. 

"Hey! There goes _Sir Walter Raleigh_ under the bridge there! I cansee the name just as plainly! And, --well I never!--there come _LadyJane Grey_ and _Sir Thomas More_! Do all the boats have names likethat? Wonder how the great people would like it if they knew! _SirThomas_ is an express; he's on official business this morning, andisn't going to stop! Now! here comes _Queen Elizabeth_ herself!Nothing less than a queen for me! I hope we'll take her!" John criedexcitedly. 

The _Queen Elizabeth_ did prove to be the Kew and Hampton Court boat, so when the gangway was put across, the five went on board and tooksome comfortable seats in the bow. 

"Now, there are a number of things which I wish to point out to youright away, " remarked Mrs. Pitt, "so please be very attentive for afew moments. Just as soon as we are started and go under WestminsterBridge here, you will have the most beautiful view of the Houses ofParliament, on your right. There! See if the great building isn'tgraceful from here! And isn't its river-front imposing with all thestatues of the sovereigns!

"Now! Quickly! Look to the left, and see the building with the gatewayand square, blackened towers and battlements. That's Lambeth Palace, "she added, "which has been the residence of the Archbishops ofCanterbury (or the 'Primates of England, ' as they are called) for sixhundred years. It's a delightful old place, with its fine library, andits several court-yards! It's very historic as well, for in one ofthose towers, according to some people, the Lollards or followers ofthe religious reformer, Wycliffe, are said to have been tortured. Queen Elizabeth's favorite, the unfortunate Earl of Essex, wasimprisoned there, too. 

"Here on our left was the famous amusement-park, Vauxhall, which wasso popular in the eighteenth century. Some day when you readThackeray's novels you will find it mentioned. There on the right isChelsea, where was Sir Thomas More's home. I think his groundsbordered on the river, and he used to walk down to the bank, step intohis boat, and his son would row him to the city. At his house there hewas often visited by Henry VIII, Holbein, and the great Dutch scholar, Erasmus. Just behind those trees is Cheyne Walk, where ThomasCarlyle's house still stands. (There's the old Chelsea Church, whichis most interesting, and Chelsea Hospital for old pensioners. ) Therehave been many famous residents of Chelsea in more recent days; amongthem George Eliot, the great novelist, who died there; EdwardBurne-Jones, the artist; Rossetti, the poet; Swinburne, Meredith, andWhistler. There! now I'll leave you in peace to enjoy your boat-ride, and the music. "

They now came to a part of the river which is neither especiallyhistoric nor attractive, and the young people amused themselves for awhile in talking, or listening to the rather crude music of some oldmusicians on the boat. It was not long, however, before the banksagain became green and beautiful, and they passed odd little villages, and comfortable country-houses, whose smooth terraces slope down tothe river. On the arrival of the boat at Kew, they went on shore andwalked towards the celebrated Gardens. 

"Have Kew Gardens any story or history to them, or are they justfamous because of their flowers?" inquired Betty, as they passedthrough the gateway, and caught glimpses of bright blossoms within. 

"Oh, rather!" replied Mrs. Pitt. "You'll find plenty of history abouthere, Betty. Let's look at the flowers first, though. "

Kew Gardens are most immaculately cared for. Wide gravel-paths stretchbetween the wonderful lawns, which are dotted with flower-beds of allshapes. There are hot-houses containing tropical plants, and in the"Rock Garden" is a pond where there are pelicans and other strangewater birds. The party spent an hour very happily in wandering about, admiring the beautiful views as they went. Best of all were therhododendrons, which were glorious at this season in their riot ofpink, deep rose color, and lavender. Betty, who dearly loved flowers, could hardly be enticed away from that fascinating spot, and was onlypersuaded at mention of the old palace, which she had not yet seen. 

When she reached it, she was rather disappointed. Kew Palace is notlarge, and altogether, is quite unlike a palace, although it was thefavorite residence of George III and his queen, who died there in1818. 

"It just looks like any old red-brick Tudor house, which hasn't anyhistory at all. Even its rooms are all empty, and it isn't the kind ofa palace I like!" Betty declared in injured tones. 

"Well, cheer up, Betty; we're going to Hampton Court Palace soon, andI guess that'll suit you all right. Is this where we take the tram, Mrs. Pitt? There's one coming now!" John ran out into the road andgesticulated frantically, so that the motorman would be sure to stop. That dignified English personage looked rather surprised, but John didnot care. He liked to take the lead, and to make himself usefulwhenever it was possible. 

The ride was not quite as enjoyable as they had hoped, because of avery high wind. Upon their perch at the top of the tram, it requiredabout all their attention to keep their hats and other belongings fromblowing away. On the whole, they were quite content to get off at thebridge at Richmond, and walk up the long hill to the famous Star andGarter Inn. 

"This hill seems longer than ever to-day, Mother, " Barbara complained. "When we reach that lovely surprise view (you know where I mean), let's sit down and admire it while we rest a bit. "

"Very well, we will, " her mother panted; "we're nearly there now. "

The view to which Barbara and her mother referred proved to be reallyvery beautiful. On one side of the hill is a little park from which aprecipice descends to the river. Looking through an opening in theluxuriant foliage of the trees (an opening which takes the place of apicture-frame), one sees a glorious view of the green valley below, through which the lazy Thames winds dreamily; and if the day is clear, Windsor Castle may just be discerned in the distance. 

"Philip, you and John go and engage one of those drivers over oppositethe hotel, to take us for a little drive in the Park; as soon as Iorder our luncheon, I'll be out again to go along. " With that, Mrs. Pitt disappeared for a few moments into the Star and Garter. 

Richmond Park is a favorite resort for tourists, and driving andbicycle parties. It contains some fine old trees, and a great manydeer which add to its attractiveness. Mrs. Pitt directed the coachmannot to drive about much, however, but to show them two points ofinterest. 

"This is the 'King's Mound, '" she observed, as the horses slowed down. "Yes, that little low mound of earth just this side of the clump oftrees. I'll admit that it looks uninteresting enough; but it is knownas the spot where Henry VIII stood while listening for the sound ofthe gun at the Tower, which told him of the execution of Anne Boleyn. "

"Ugh!" Betty interposed, in disgusted tones, giving a little shudder. "Think how he must have felt! Horrid old thing!"

"Don't be silly, Betty!" retorted John. "I guess a little thing likethat wouldn't trouble him!"

Almost in the center of the Park is a house called White Lodge, whichhas long been a royal residence. It is approached by an avenue, whichwas the scene of Jeanie Deans's interview with Queen Caroline, asScott describes it in his "Heart of Midlothian. "

Their lunch was quickly over, and they were again on their way downthe long hill. In the town of Richmond, they mounted another tram forthe forty-minute ride to Hampton Court. 

"If we only had had a bit more time, " Mrs. Pitt apologized, "I shouldhave shown you what still remains of the famous old palace ofRichmond. Henry VIII and Elizabeth both held their courts there often, and there the latter died in 1603. The palace was destroyed by orderof Parliament in 1649; only a small part of it was spared, and in thatthe widow of Charles I, poor Queen Henrietta Maria, was allowed tolive. Are you getting plenty of history, Betty, my dear?"

"Oh, yes, but I'm always ready for more, " smiled that young lady inresponse. 

The tram set them down very near the great palace of Hampton Court. They went quickly through the entrance-gates of wrought iron, andwalked towards the building itself. This West Front is as Wolsey leftit, and is made of the old crimson bricks, with here and there a blackone. Passing under the gatehouse, they came into the Green or BaseCourt, and here they paused to look about them. 

"You'll remember that the great and powerful Cardinal Wolsey builtHampton Court, " suggested Mrs. Pitt. "He lived in regal state, and hadalmost as large a retinue of servants and followers as the Kinghimself. To gratify his great love for splendor and luxury, he builtthis magnificent residence for himself. He was in need of a home alittle removed from the city, where he could rest and enjoy the freshair. Yet it was also accessible to London, for he could be rowed upthe river in his barge. Wolsey's two great ambitions--wealth andpower--were both gratified, and for a while all went well; but timebrought the King's displeasure, and it was he who took possession atHampton Court after the complete disgrace which led to the death ofthe Cardinal. Henry VIII tore down some of Wolsey's buildings, and putup new ones in their stead; and other monarchs added portions also;for instance, the huge State Apartments were erected under thesupervision of Sir Christopher Wren, and by order of King William III. We shall see all these later on. Have you noticed those little orielwindows of the gatehouse? They are the originals of Wolsey's palace, and I think this court here is also much the same as he built it. Inhis day there were pretty latticed windows in these surroundingbuildings, a grass plot in the center, and around these narrowpassages Wolsey probably rode on his ass. "

"Ass!" cried John. "What for? With all his money, couldn't he evenhave a horse?"

"Oh, rather!" Mrs. Pitt laughed. "No doubt Wolsey would have likedone, but he was wise enough to always follow custom in such matters ashad to do with his outward appearance and attitude. All religious menrode on asses; it was the habit of the day. Now, come this way, andsee the Great Hall. Oh, Philip! Please fetch me my umbrella; I left iton the step in the court, there!"

Leading into the second or Clock Court, is Anne Boleyn's gateway. Under this is a broad flight of stairs which takes one to the GreatHall, erected by Henry VIII, probably on the site of Wolsey's earlierhall. It is a grand old room with a fine timber roof, and completewith its daïs or raised platform at the end, its minstrels' galleryover the entrance doors, its old tapestries, stags' heads, and suitsof armor, and its windows mostly filled with modern stained-glass. Outof the hall are two smaller apartments, which also contain goodtapestries. From here, the visitor again descends to Anne Boleyn'sgateway. 

"What a funny old clock!" exclaimed Betty, spying it, up above on thetower under which they had just passed. "It seems to be so mixed up, somehow, that I can't tell the time by it. "

"It is curious! It's Henry VIII's Astronomical Clock; it has all sortsof appliances and strange attachments. That's why you can't read it. It was recently repaired and set going again. "

"The King's Grand Staircase" is broad, stately, and quite asimpressive as its name, and this leads to the pompous StateApartments. These great square rooms, one opening out of another, seemed endless to the young people, and contained no attractions forthem. The walls are covered with pictures, some of which are fine, butthere are so many which are very similar that even Sir Peter Lely, Holbein, and Van Dyck become hopelessly tiresome. These rooms alsocontain some old furniture which is interesting, but on the whole, thebest thing about them is the ever charming view of the gardens fromthe windows. The visitor may enter one tiny room called "Wolsey'sCloset, " which is deeply impressive with its paneled walls and ancientceiling. The very atmosphere of the sixteenth century still seems tolinger here, and one can easily believe that nothing herein has beenchanged since the great Cardinal used it daily. Near this is a longgallery which is supposed to be haunted by the ghost of QueenCatharine Howard. After the dullness of the State Apartments, thispossessed great interest for the boys, and they lingered here as longas Mrs. Pitt would allow. They were forced to come away disappointed, however, without having heard even one little scream. 

"You'd better spend the night here, John, " remarked Philip, in teasingtones. "That's the proper time to see and hear ghosts. " John decidednot to wait, however. 

Of all the one thousand rooms of the great palace, they saw only onemore, and that was Henry VIII's Gothic Chapel, gorgeous in its finecarving and gilding, and in which the magnificent ceremony of thebaptism of Prince Edward, afterwards Edward VI, was held. 

The gardens of Hampton Court are perhaps better known and enjoyed thanthe palace itself. They are very extensive, and are laid out in theFrench style. Directly before the long front of William III'saddition, is a great round basin with a fountain, and beyond stretchesthe "Long Canal, "--a straight and narrow artificial pond, bordered byvery beautiful trees. Then there is the "Home Park" on either side ofthe canal; here Henry VIII and Catharine Howard probably wanderedoften during their long honeymoon at Hampton Court; and here WilliamIII was riding on the day when he was thrown from his horse andkilled. 

There is what is called the "Wilderness, "--in reality a maze--whichwas greatly enjoyed by the party; and nearer the palace, again, is thetennis-court, where that game has been played for three centuries anda half. Some of the players here have been Henry VIII, the Earl ofLeicester, Charles I, Charles II, and the present King, Edward VII, when he was Prince of Wales. 

"And didn't that American, Pettitt, play here?" inquired John. "He wonthe World's Championship in England, you know. Yes, I thought it washere, though the word Hampton Court never meant much to me beforeto-day. "

There is still the remarkable Hampton Court Vine, the fame of whichhas spread so far. The vine fills a whole greenhouse, and one of itsbranches is a hundred and fourteen feet long. The attendant told Bettythat the crop consists of about eight hundred bunches, each oneweighing a pound. Having duly marveled at this, they explored QueenMary's lovely bower or arbor, where that Queen used to sit with herladies at the tapestry-frames. 

"Dear me, let's go back now!" said Betty. "I'm sure we've been milesover these grounds. "

So they walked along the paths where Henry VIII made love to AnneBoleyn and Catharine Howard, where Queen Elizabeth took her morningwalks, and where Pope, Swift, Addison, and Walpole wandered in morerecent days. 

"I think I haven't mentioned Cromwell to you in connection withHampton Court, but he must not be forgotten, for he came here after hewas made Protector, and lived with as much pomp and splendor as anyking. Every time I visit this palace I marvel at the amount of historywith which it is connected, and at the number of scenes for which itwas the setting!"

As she spoke, Mrs. Pitt was leading the way to the railroad-station. ALondon train came along very soon, fortunately, but they ran up anddown in vain looking for seats in their customary third-classcompartment. These were all crowded, the following day being a "bankholiday, " so when the guard at last came to their rescue, he put themin a first-class compartment. This greatly interested John and Betty, as they had not seen one before. 

[Illustration: "EVERY TIME I VISIT THE PALACE I MARVEL AT THE AMOUNTOF HISTORY WITH WHICH IT IS CONNECTED. "--_Page 136. _]

"It isn't so very different, after all, " commented Betty. "Thecushions are a little nicer, and there's carpet on the floor, butthat's the only change from an ordinary third-class carriage. "

"I know it, " said Philip. "And most English people never think oftraveling first-class except on a long journey; for it really is verylittle better, and the price is so ruinously dear!"

CHAPTER ELEVEN

STRATFORD-ON-AVON

"We're going to stay in a really, truly old inn at last, aren't we!"Betty gave a sigh of satisfaction and walked rapidly along by Mrs. Pitt's side, as that lady led the way from the station at Stratford tothe famous Red Horse Hotel. 

"Stratford is exactly like any other little English town, " John wascommenting to Philip. "There are plenty of new houses made of shiny, red bricks, and all put close together in blocks, with their tinylawns and gardens in front. I suppose they build that way even in thesmall towns, because you haven't as much room to spread out as we havein America. Too bad, though, I say! Makes a little town look just likea big city, only smaller. I thought Stratford would be different!" Histones betrayed not a little disappointment. 

As they came into the central and older part of the town, however, even John was forced to admit that it was "different, " after all. Along Stratford's narrow, clean little streets stand many old housesadorned with great oak timbers, quaint inscriptions, and carvings; andquicker than all else, the sight of these, remaining here and therebetween the more modern structures, makes one feel the antiquity ofthe place. These houses totter a little, and lean their upper storiesover the street, --perhaps with a kind of curiosity to see better thestrange and more and more startling scenes which the centuries bringforth. For instance, what must these ancient houses, which perchancewitnessed the passing of some splendid pageant of the "spacious timesof Queen Elizabeth, " think of the bustle and prosperous commercial airwhich the town has gradually taken on? What of the sight-seers whoseautomobiles go tearing along, uttering weird and frightful sounds? Nowonder the old houses stand on tiptoe and bend farther and fartherover the street in their amazement and horror!

The young people were delighted with the odd little Red Horse Hotel. As it was market-day, the wide street before it was crowded withpeople, and down the middle was a row of queer, covered wagons, inwhich the farmers bring their produce, and which are used as stalls onarrival at the market-place. The little hotel is severely plain andsquare, and has a passage leading into an old-time court-yard. Inside, it has quaint little rooms filled with antique furniture, narrowcorridors, and uneven floors, with here a step up, and there two stepsdown. Leaving their luggage in the rooms assigned to them, the partyimmediately set out for "the Birthplace, " as all Stratford peopleinvariably call the famous Shakespeare house on Henley Street. 

"Is that it!" gasped John, as they stood on the opposite side of theway and gazed across at the first home of the great Poet. "Why, Ididn't suppose it was as big as that! And it doesn't look old a bit!"

Shakespeare's birthplace has been too often pictured, and is far toofamiliar to all to need any description given it here. Perhaps it doesseem rather larger than we imagined, and the outside certainly lookssurprisingly strong and new. 

[Illustration: "WHY I DIDN'T SUPPOSE IT WAS AS BIG AS THAT!"--_Page140. _]

"But you know it now belongs to the nation, " Mrs. Pitt explained, "and is always kept in perfect condition. The last restoration wasfinished only about fifty or sixty years ago. Although the house wasso completely renewed, the greatest care was used to make it look asnearly as possible as it did at the time of Shakespeare's birth in1564. That window above the entrance, with the little diamond panes, is the original, and is in the room in which the Poet was born. "

Going under the old porch and through the door with its highthreshold, our friends found themselves in the family living-room ofthe house. It is low and rather dark, and has whitewashed walls and anearthen floor. This was in all probability the kitchen and dining-roomas well, and one is reminded of the fact by a huge fireplace whichjuts out into the room. In olden times this would have been filledwith great pots and kettles hanging over the fire on cranes. Thechimney is deep enough and wide enough to have two little seats withinit--one on either side. John quickly bent down and seated himselfwhere he could look straight up the chimney and see a square patch ofblue sky. 

When Mrs. Pitt saw him, she smiled and said, "No doubt, Shakespearehimself, when he was a small boy, often sat right there with hisbrothers and sisters. It must have been very pleasant on cold winterevenings, to creep into these 'inglenooks, ' as they were called, beside the great blazing fire, and tell stories. I think the childrenshould have felt themselves very lucky to have such delightfully warmquarters!"

From a small entry at the rear of this room, the narrow winding stairslead to the floor above. Before going up, Mrs. Pitt wrote their namesin the huge Visitors' Book. Betty was much pleased to find, whilecarelessly turning its pages, the name of a girl friend who had beenin England the previous summer. 

"How queer that I should see Evelyn's name!" she exclaimed; "but Iguess almost everybody who visits England comes to this house. "

"Aye! We 'ave thousands of visitors 'ere every year, Miss, and themost of 'em are Americans, it do appear to me! They do be powerfulfond o' Shakespeare!" The attendant shook his head knowingly as hegave Betty this information. 

One of the most interesting rooms in the whole world is that chamberon the second floor in which the great Shakespeare was born. Initself, it is not in any way remarkable; it contains but a chair ortwo, and an old table, which holds a bust of the Poet. But its plasterwalls, low ceiling, and even its window-panes, are inscribed with thenames of great people, --poets, authors, statesmen, men of allcountries, occupations, and beliefs, --who have journeyed here to paytheir tribute to the greatest of all poets and writers. 

"Whenever I meet people who believe that Lord Bacon or any other manwrote Shakespeare's plays, I never discuss the question with them, forI have no arguments to withstand their claims, " said Mrs. Pittintently. "I only remind myself that if such men as Browning, Thackeray, Kean, Scott, and Carlyle, who have all left theirsignatures here, believed that the 'immortal Shakespeare' wrote hisown plays, I can feel safe in believing so, too. Therefore I want youto understand, children, that you are standing in the room whereShakespeare was born, and be glad all your lives when you rememberthat you have seen it. "

The other room on the second floor--a kind of attic--contains animportant picture of Shakespeare. It is called the "StratfordPortrait, " as it was discovered in that native town, and it is nowthought to have been painted in the eighteenth century, from a bust. 

The Shakespeare house is double. In the other half, which is now amuseum, John Shakespeare, the father of the Poet, used to have hisshop and carry on his trade, or trades, for, like many people at thattime, he had several. This museum now contains many relics ofShakespeare, which are more or less authentic, as well as a largenumber of First Editions of his plays. The young people wereinterested in an old desk, much scratched and marred, which it issupposed that the Poet used when at the Guild School. It is not clearwhether it was when he was a pupil there, or at the time he was"Junior Master, " as he is thought to have been by some. The desk islong and narrow, having but one little opening into which a hand couldbe reached to pull out the books. It occurred to John that it wouldhave been a very convenient place to hide apples or pickles, or anysuch forbidden articles, as the master could never even suspect theirexistence in that dark interior. 

"You will see where that desk once stood, " remarked Mrs. Pitt, "forlater, I shall show you the old Guild Hall, and the room where theStratford boys had their lessons. Now, we are all hungry, and we'll gostraight to the Shakespeare Hotel and have some luncheon. Don't youall approve that plan?"

Before leaving "the Birthplace, " it must be remembered that thereexists a really very picturesque old English garden. In it wereplanted, about fifty years ago, a quantity of the flowers which arementioned in the plays of Shakespeare, and the result is a very lovelymass of brightly-colored, old-fashioned flowers. 

At the Shakespeare Hotel, they were served a typically Englishluncheon of mutton, peas seasoned with mint, greens, and afterwards a"gooseberry tart. " John and Betty were in gales of laughter when theshy, rosy-cheeked maid asked if they would have some "jammed fingers. "

"What in the world does she mean?" inquired Betty, between hergiggles. 

"I don't know, I am sure. Do you, Barbara? Oh, yes I do! Probably shemeans 'jam fingers. ' I have heard the name. Please bring us some, "Mrs. Pitt requested. 

The "jammed fingers" proved to be long strips of pastry with jambetween. They were very good, and John and Betty much preferred themto the sour gooseberries, to which they had not taken at all kindly. 

The Shakespeare Hotel is much like its neighbor, the Red Horse, exceptfor the fact that each room bears the name of one of Shakespeare'splays. 

"How lovely it would be to sleep in the 'Romeo and Juliet' room, --ifthere is one!" Betty sighed. "I almost wish we had planned to stayhere, although I do want to write letters on the table in WashingtonIrving's room at the Red Horse!"

Very near the Shakespeare Hotel is what is known as the "John HarvardHouse, "[B]--more accurately, the girlhood home of the mother of JohnHarvard. It is high and narrow, but fully as picturesque as is thenearby Tudor House, which is large and square. Both are excellentexamples of Elizabethan houses, and are very quaint and pretty. Thelower floor of the Tudor House is a most fascinating shop, in whichone may find a really astonishing number of post-cards, books, pictures, and little souvenirs relating to Shakespeare. 

[Footnote B: This has just recently been restored and presented toHarvard College. The old house will in the future serve as arendezvous for visiting Americans. ]

"Seems to me, everything, from the hotel to the cheapest post-card, has the name of Shakespeare attached to it somehow!"

"You are quite right, John!" agreed Mrs. Pitt. "The modern town hasgrown up and literally lives upon Shakespeare! Without him, and theimmense number of visitors which his memory brings, Stratford couldhardly exist at all, as there are no factories or important industrieshere. "

A long, beautiful afternoon of sight-seeing followed. First, came avisit to the site of Shakespeare's home of New Place, to see the oldfoundations. As they stood looking down at the few pathetic remains, Mrs. Pitt explained how the house happened to be pulled down. 

"It was shameful!" she cried indignantly. "I dislike to think of theman who was responsible for its destruction. The house was an oldone, even in Shakespeare's day, as it was probably erected in 1490 bySir Hugh Clopton. A historian named Leland of the sixteenth centurysays this about New Place and its surroundings: 'There is a rightgoodly chappell, in a fayre street towardes the south ende of thetowne dedicated to the Trinitye; this chappell was newly re-edified byone Hugh Clopton, Mayor of London; this Hugh Clopton builded also bythe north side of this chappell a praty house of brick and tymbre, wherein he lived in his latter dayes and dyed. ' To appreciate thatfully, you should see the queer old spelling! Well, to continue, Shakespeare left New Place to his eldest daughter, Susanna Hall, and Idon't know just how long it remained in the family. However, at lengthit was in the possession of the Rev. Francis Gastrell, who cut downShakespeare's celebrated mulberry-tree because too many visitorstroubled him by coming there to see it. In 1759, he became so angry ina quarrel about the taxes imposed upon New Place, that he had it torndown and the material sold. I can never forgive him for that! It seemsto me that I never knew of anger having led to a more outrageouslyunjust and deplorable act!" Mrs. Pitt's eyes flashed, and her facewas flushed from her feeling of what one might almost be pardoned forterming "righteous indignation. "

Leaving New Place, they turned into Chapel Lane, which borders on oneside the grounds formerly belonging to the Poet's estate. 

"Let me give you just a little description of this street inShakespeare's time, " Mrs. Pitt reflected. "You must know that sanitaryconditions were fearful then, and that Stratford was as bad, if notworse, than other towns in that respect. Even as late as 1769, whenGarrick visited here, he considered it 'the most dirty, unseemly, ill-paved, wretched-looking town in all Britain. ' The people hadabsolutely no idea of cleanliness. In Stratford, there were six placeswhere it was lawful to dump rubbish, --right in the street! Just fancy!Sometimes these dumps prevented a man from making his way about thetown. Chapel Lane was considered the worst part of the whole place, for besides the fact that there was a dump here, the neighbors in thevicinity seemed to be more than usually untidy andshiftless, --allowing their pigs to wander about loose, for instance. That was the kind of street which Shakespeare must have entered everytime he left his own house. Think of it! Some people have, I believe, attributed his early death to the unhealthful conditions of hissurroundings. Inside the homes, things were but little better. Peoplelaid rushes on the floor in the place of carpets, and these becamefilthy from dirt, mud, and other things which clung to them. Freshrushes were brought but seldom. The churches were not often swept orcleaned, either. Once, when the roof of the Guild Chapel was beingrepaired, a certain man and his wife were appointed to sweep theinterior and clear away the cobwebs. A widow used to sweep themarket-place. She was provided with her utensils, --a shovel, broom-stick, and bundle of twigs--and was paid six shillings andeightpence a year. How carefully and how often do you suppose sheswept? Dear me! I sometimes have wished that I had lived in QueenElizabeth's age, but when I remember some of the terriblecircumstances of that time, I cannot be too thankful that I live inthe twentieth century!"

They had been standing before the old Guild Hall for some few minuteswhile Mrs. Pitt finished what she was saying. They now turned toadmire and examine it more closely. It is a building of plaster andhuge timbers, long and low, with a second story projecting slightlyover the lower. The old hall on the ground floor is said to be wherethe boy Shakespeare first saw a play. A room just above it was theGrammar School, which Shakespeare probably attended for five years, and where the desk shown at "the Birthplace" may have been used byhim. 

"It was rather different going to school in those days!" declared Mrs. Pitt. "The hours were very long, the lessons hard, and the mastersstrict, and not unwilling to use the rod for the slightestmisdemeanor. There have been terrible stories of boys being much hurt, or even killed as a result of this practice. The pupils sat on narrowbenches, their heavy books propped up before them on long tables. Itmust have been very hard to stay here in this dark room and listen tothe master's voice reciting monotonous Latin, while birds sang and thefair world of an English summer was just out of reach. If Shakespearewas a real boy, --and we think he was--he was surely describing his ownfeelings when he wrote the lines in 'As You Like It' about:

 'The whining schoolboy, with his satchel, And shining morning face, creeping like snail Unwillingly to school, --'"

As they had already walked a good deal that day, Mrs. Pitt found acarriage, and they drove to Trinity Church and the ShakespeareMemorial. On the way, the driver pointed out the home of MarieCorelli, the writer. It is an attractive, square house, which presentsa very gay appearance, with a box of bright flowers on everywindow-ledge. 

Trinity Church stands close beside the picturesque Avon. The watersflow gently against the rushes, making a soft music, and the breezejust stirs the leaves of the tall trees which keep guard over thegraves in the church-yard. One feels something of the peace and quietof Stoke Poges, but here the presence, --or, rather, the memory--of thegreat Shakespeare hovers over all, and every one hastens inside to seethe tomb. 

The church is ancient--in part dating from the twelfth century--and itcontains many interesting monuments, but somehow the whole seems likeone huge memorial to Shakespeare. On the floor, at one side of thechancel, is the slab which marks the Poet's grave, and which bears thefamous epitaph, said to have been written by himself:

 "Good frend; for Jesus' sake forbeare To digg the dust encloased heare; Bleste be y{e} man y{e} spares thes stones, And curst be he y{t} moves my bones. "

On the wall above the tomb is the monument, --a bust of Shakespeare, onwhich the original colors have recently been restored. Nearby areburied Anne Hathaway, Shakespeare's wife, his daughter, Susanna Hall, and her husband, and other members of the family. 

For some minutes our party stood quietly looking over the altar-railat the grave and its inscription, but finally, the arrival of someloud-voiced, laughing tourists, who conscientiously made fun ofeverything they saw, caused them to turn away. 

Mrs. Pitt then called their attention to some of the stained-glasswindows. "Two of them were given by Americans, " she said. "This onehere pictures the Seven Ages of Man, which Shakespeare describes in'As You Like It, ' Do you see? Now come to the back of the church andlook at the parish register, which contains the record of the baptismand burial of Shakespeare. Here it is. "

A glass case holds this precious relic, and by studying carefully thequaint old writing, the words "Shakespeare" and the dates can betraced. 

"Think how fortunate that this register was preserved!" exclaimed Mrs. Pitt, leaning over to examine it again. "Important records of births, marriages, and deaths, as well as notable events, were always kept inthese books, and yet the people generally did not consider them ofmuch value. The parchment leaves were often torn out and used torebind schoolbooks, or to line a housewife's cooking-utensils! Fancy!Some vergers, however, recognized the great worth of these books andpreserved them with care. Luckily the men of this church were of thattype. "

Here the modern verger, in his flowing black gown, accosted them, andurged them to buy some of the Shakespeare Post-cards, at a shillingeach. Having purchased several, and posted them then and there tovarious friends, they left the church and walked down the lovely path, shaded by arching lime-trees. They then drove to the ShakespeareMemorial, which also stands near the river. 

This large, irregular building of red brick and stone, with its onehigh tower, was erected in 1879. In it is a theatre where plays aregiven every spring, on the anniversary of Shakespeare's birth, as wellas at certain other times. The children were amused at seeing arehearsal in progress on the stage. 

"How absurd Lady Macbeth does look strutting about and clasping herhands, dressed in that black skirt, shirt-waist, and sailor hat!"Betty laughed. 

In this Memorial Building are many photographs and paintings ofcelebrated actors and actresses in Shakespearean rôles, as well as avery fine library. There is so much to be seen here--so muchdetail--that our friends only took a very hasty look about, and thenwent up into the tower to see the view. Stretched out below them, thequaint little town of Stratford and the lovely green meadows throughwhich the Avon flows, made a very effective picture!

It was now late afternoon, and the sun was getting lower and lower. They did not feel like doing any more real sight-seeing, yet it wasstill too delightful out-of-doors to return to the hotel, so Mrs. Pitt, who always had some fascinating plan ready, suggested that theywalk through the Weir Brake. 

"What's that, Mother? You never took us there!" exclaimed Barbara. 

"Didn't I? Well, I'll show it to you, and I am sure you will like it, too, " their mother promised. "Come on! We'll cross this littlefoot-bridge, and go along the opposite bank. "

The view of Holy Trinity Church from across the river is verycharming. The luxuriant foliage almost hides it except for the oldgray spire, which rises most gracefully above the tree-tops. Theystrolled happily along over the rough field, Betty stopping sometimesto gather a few attractive blossoms to add to her bunch ofwildflowers. The light was wonderfully soft and lovely, and the sunhad gone down only to leave behind it a sky glorious in its tints ofpink and lavender, with the deep blue still remaining above. 

"Now, we're coming to the Weir Brake!" announced Mrs. Pitttriumphantly. "Take care, Barbara! Don't trip over that stump!"

They followed their guide over a stile, across a field where the smellof new-mown hay was sweet, through some bars, and finally along anarrow, rough path on a steep bank close to the Avon. This was thebeginning of the Weir Brake, where Shakespeare and Anne Hathaway mayperhaps have done their courting, as Mrs. Pitt suggested. 

The Avon is narrow at this point, and flows rather swiftly. The sunsetsky was reflected in its waters, which were overshadowed by willowtrees, rushes, and ferns. On the bank was a tangle of underbrush andwild flowers, and above, the great trees, --the elms, of whichShakespeare so often speaks. As they rambled on and on, the treesseemed to grow larger, and more and more gnarled and picturesque. 

"Oh! Can't you just see Titania and Oberon and all the other fairiesdancing here and playing games about these trees! It looks exactlylike a stage-setting for 'As You Like It' or 'Midsummer Night'sDream, '" exclaimed Betty, who was fascinated with what she saw. Theevening was just dark enough to produce a weird but beautiful effectof shadows under the elm trees. 

"I'm rejoiced that it appeals to you so, Betty!" cried Mrs. Pitt. "That's just as I always feel! It seems as though you could actuallytouch spots of which Shakespeare must have been thinking when he wrotecertain passages. And it is a fact that he did often have this orsimilar places in mind; for, although the scene of 'A MidsummerNight's Dream' was supposed to be in Greece, Shakespeare allowed hischaracters and his entire background to be as absolutely English as hewas himself. You know that in olden times, the Forest of Arden coveredmuch of Warwickshire; even these old trees with which we are nowsurrounded, are remnants of that splendid woodland which is sofamiliar to us through Shakespeare. It was surely in just such a scenethat Titania and the other fairies danced, and where Snug, Bottom, Flute, Snout, and the rest came to practice their play, --thoseso-called Athenians, who were so exactly like Stratford tradesmen ofShakespeare's day. Certainly it was under just such trees that Hermia, and Helena, Lysander, and Demetrius wandered!

"And see there where those branches touch the water, " she sooncontinued; "might not that have been the very place where poor Ophelialost her life? Listen!

 'There is a willow grows aslant a brook, That shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream;'

Isn't that a perfect description of this very spot? And then:

 'I know a bank whereon the wild thyme blows, Where oxslips and the nodding violet grows, --'

Just see the violets all about us here! There are the 'palecowslips, ' too! Do you see? Oh, it's wonderful, --wonderful to find somany of the very flowers which Shakespeare loved and talked of somuch!--the daisy, the musk-rose and woodbine! There's some right byyour foot, Betty. But come, come, we really must go now! We'll go backby the field above, where it is not so steep and dark. Come, John!"

So they hurriedly retraced their steps toward the town. In skirtingthe fields on the hill-top, they once had to pick their way with somedifficulty through holes in bristling hedges, and Mrs. Pitt and thegirls were forced to run away from a buck, but these were littleincidents to which they were all quite equal, and they arrived at theRed Horse Hotel, nothing daunted, just as the dinner-gong soundedloudly. 

CHAPTER TWELVE

A DAY IN WARWICKSHIRE

Betty did spend the evening "writing letters in Washington Irving'sroom at the Red Horse, " as she had planned. It was in that quaint, tiny parlor that Irving wrote his well-known paper aboutStratford-on-Avon, and perhaps Betty hoped to benefit by the literaryatmosphere. At any rate, the letters were accomplished with great easeand rapidity, after her curiosity had been satisfied by an examinationof the room. 

Washington Irving's armchair is there, and the old poker with which heis said to have tended the fire. On the walls hang the pictures of anumber of actors and actresses who have played Shakespearean parts. Except for these, the room differs very little from the rest of theinn. About nine-thirty, the children started up to bed, Betty, enthusiastic at the prospect of a high four-poster, which "you reallyhave to run and give a jump to get into. " She and Barbara did notstay long awake to enjoy it, however, for it seemed as though theirheads had hardly touched the pillows before the maid was calling them, and the bright sun was pouring in at the windows. 

Very early they set out to walk "across the fields to Anne. " Thelittle village of Shottery, where stands the cottage known all theworld over as "Anne Hathaway's, " is only about a mile distant fromStratford, and our party gayly took the path through thefields, --perhaps the very one over which Shakespeare trod when he wasAnne's lover. This led them first past the "back-yards" of Stratford, then over a stile and through the green meadows, where daisies andcowslips abound. As they went along, Mrs. Pitt repeated to them thefollowing little verse from Shakespeare's "Winter's Tale":

 "Jog on, jog on, the footpath way, And merrily hent the stile-a; A merry heart goes all the way, Your sad tires in a mile-a. "

The boys learned this, and half-chanted, half-sang it over and overwhile they all kept time to the rhythm. 

"There's Shottery, I guess!" Betty called, interrupting the singers, as she caught sight of a pretty little group of thatched-roofedcottages. "It seems a very short 'mile-a, ' doesn't it!"

Anne Hathaway's cottage is even more picturesque than its neighbors, or does this only seem so because of the associations which it has forall? Every one knows the picture of the cottage. One end stands closeto the country road, and in front of it, behind a green hedge, is thegarden. Growing on the cottage walls are at least half a dozendifferent kinds of roses, as well as honeysuckle and jasmine, whichclamber way up and mingle with the heavy thatch. The oldcasement-windows with their thick panes of glass were swung open tolet in the morning's fresh air. A young girl dressed in pink andcarrying a broom, appeared on the doorstep as Philip opened the gate. She was evidently rather surprised to see such early visitors, but shesaid they might go in. While Mrs. Pitt paused to speak with her, Betty, who had already rushed inside, called out: "Here's the oldsettle! I know it from its pictures!"

Sure enough, there it was, close beside the great fireplace, --we hopejust where it has always been ever since Anne Hathaway andShakespeare sat there together. 

"But, Mother, is that really the same bench, and did Anne truly livehere?" questioned the all too matter-of-fact Barbara. 

"My dear daughter, " began Mrs. Pitt, feigning great severity; "banishthat thought immediately! Just for one little hour we are going toknow that Anne did live here, --that Will said 'Will you?' and Annesaid 'I will, ' right on this very bench. I quite refuse to listen toany doubts on the subject for to-day! You write our names in the book, please, Philip. I'm going to rest myself here in Anne'srocking-chair!"

The girl with the broom looked at her visitor in a puzzled way, andbegan, --"But, lady, I brought that chair here with me only----" ButMrs. Pitt quickly interrupted her, asking some trifling question. Herillusions were not to be disturbed, it seemed, and the girl beat aretreat. 

"Well, Mother, " said Philip, "you aren't the only one who has everbelieved in the house! Here in this old Visitors' Book are the namesof Dickens, Longfellow, Holmes, General Grant, Edwin Booth, MaryAnderson, and----"

[Illustration: "DID ANNE TRULY LIVE HERE?"--_Page 164. _]

"Never mind the rest, Phil; if General Grant said so, it's true! Heknew what he was talking about!" And so John settled the question. 

A flag-stone floor is all this little room can boast of, and a lowceiling of huge timbers, but it has an air of homelikeness and cosycomfort, nevertheless. At the windows are flowers which nod to theircousins out in the garden; some gray knitting usually lies on thetable; and there is the huge fireplace with all its cranes, differenthooks, pots and kettles; and the crowning glory of all, the old oaksettle, upon which every visitor religiously seats himself. 

"Isn't there any upstairs?" demanded John, before many minutes. 

"Oh, yes! May we go up, please?" Mrs. Pitt asked of the attendant. "Yes, thank you; I know the way, and I'll be careful. "

So they climbed the rickety stairs, and saw a little bedroom under theeaves, in which stands an old, very forlorn-looking "four-poster. "

"I'm so glad that tiresome, truthful person let us come up alone, "said Mrs. Pitt, panting. "If she had come, too, I could not haveexplained that this was Anne's bedroom. She used to sit by thiswindow and dream about Will, and watch for his coming, too. She----"

"Don't spoil it all, Mother, " pleaded Barbara. "Perhaps it really washer room!"

"And didn't I just say as much?" her mother laughed. "But seriously!This room never appealed to me as does the one below. Anne couldn'thave been very comfortable up here. If she was tall, she could hardlyhave stood up straight because of the slanting roof. "

So laughingly, they went downstairs and toward the patch of brightyellow sun-flowers in the farthest corner of the garden. The younggirl followed them. "Shall I point out the different flowers?" shetimidly inquired. 

They were duly shown the "rosemary for remembrance, " the "pansies forthoughts, " and a great many others of Shakespeare's loved flowers. Theview of the cottage from the group of tall sun-flowers is mostcharming. There is surely nothing in the world more picturesque than athatched-roof. 

Arrived once again at the Red Horse, they all packed up theirbelongings, and Mrs. Pitt went over to the station with a boy, whowheeled the luggage. When the suit-cases were duly labeled"Leamington, " and the station-master had received his tip of ashilling, to insure his remembering them, Mrs. Pitt returned to thehotel, where she found five bicycles lined up. At sight of her, therest came running out. "This is great!" cried John, already astrideone of the bicycles, and impatient for the start. 

"Yes, " answered Mrs. Pitt, much pleased by the enthusiasm. "I thoughtthis would be rather better than driving out to Charlecote and back, and then taking the train to Leamington. I know the roads, and amdelighted at riding once more! I had my divided-skirt with me, yousee, in case of this very emergency. You girls will manage somehow;your skirts are fairly short. " This was to Barbara and Betty, and thenthey were off. 

The ride of about four miles to Charlecote seemed all too short, for, as Betty expressed it, "the roads are so smooth and level that I can'tstop. My wheel just goes of itself!" They first came in sight ofCharlecote Park, where there are still great numbers of deer. As theparty passed, the graceful creatures rose from the tall grass, makingan extremely pretty picture. They tried in vain to coax them to thefence. 

"Deer in Shakespeare's time must have been tamer, or he couldn't havestolen one, " observed John knowingly. 

"Isn't the 'Tumble-down Stile' near here, Mother?" Barbara questioned. 

"Yes, it's just beyond this turn in the road. There it is now! So longas we are believing all we see to-day, I feel quite justified intelling you that when the youthful Shakespeare was escaping with hisdeer on his shoulders, he fled by way of this stile. Touch that toprail, John, and see what will happen. No, this end of the rail!"

As John put his hand on the place which Mrs. Pitt designated, that endgave way and hit the three other rails, so that they also bent down tothe ground. John was much amused, and repeated the motion again andagain. 

"Did Shakespeare fall over that stile when he was trying to climb itwith the deer, and did they catch him then?" he asked eagerly. 

"Yes, that's the story, and, of course, we know it is true! Now, comethis way to the gatehouse. I was able to get permission, through aninfluential friend, to take you inside. I am so glad, for not everyone has such good fortune. This woodland, " motioning to the fine oldoaks, as they sped along, "is also a part of the ancient Forest ofArden. That wood was so dense in this county in the thirteenthcentury, that the King ordered the Constable of Warwickshire to cutdown six acres in breadth between Warwick and Coventry, to insure thegreater safety of travelers. "

They were now getting distant glimpses of the fine Elizabethanresidence itself. It was built in 1558, the year of Elizabeth'saccession to the throne, and was made in the general shape of theletter E, in honor of that Queen. The color of the ancient bricks hasbeen softened and beautified by the hand of Time, which has alsocaused heavy vines to grow upon, and in certain places, almost tocover the walls. The different courts, gateways, and gables, aretherefore most picturesque. The present owner, a descendant of the SirThomas Lucy whom Shakespeare knew and ridiculed, permits visitors (theprivileged few) to see the Great Hall and the library. 

The former is the most interesting of all the apartments, for here onestands in the very room where Shakespeare is said to have beenquestioned by the pompous Sir Thomas Lucy, after the deer-stealingepisode. This lofty hall has a slight modern atmosphere about it now, but the dark paneling, bits of really old glass in the windows, and, above all, the bust of Shakespeare, recall the past very vividly tomind. 

Most historians admit that there is some truth in the story thatShakespeare came into unpleasant contact with the Lord of Charlecote, through a more or less serious boyish prank; but not all believe thatthere can be any truth in the statement that he was brought into theGreat Hall by the forester who caught up with him at the "Tumble-downStile. " It may be, however, that Shakespeare was later on friendlyterms with the Lucy family, and so it is possible that he was thenentertained in the hall. 

"You know, " remarked Mrs. Pitt, "that the disgrace of that affair withSir Thomas Lucy is thought to have caused Shakespeare to leave hisnative town and go to seek his fortune in far-away London. Thereforethe prank is said by some to have been a most important, thoughseemingly trivial event in the Poet's life. Shakespeare's revengeupon the owner of lovely Charlecote came later, when he very plainlydescribed Sir Thomas in his plays, under the name of 'JusticeShallow. '"

Another room at Charlecote is very attractive, --that is, the oldlibrary. There is preserved some wonderful inlaid furniture whichtradition describes as a gift from Queen Elizabeth to Leicester, andwhich consequently would once have found a place at Kenilworth Castle. A very charming view of the lawn sloping gently down to the river isseen from the library windows. 

Within the precincts of Charlecote is a beautiful church which waserected by Mrs. Henry Spenser Lucy, in 1852, upon the site of anancient chapel. Here there are huge tombs in memory of three Lucys, and also an interesting monument to the wife of Sir Thomas, with itstribute to her lovely character, supposed to have been written byShakespeare's "Justice Shallow" himself, who seems at least to havebeen a devoted husband. This last-mentioned monument was originally apart of the older edifice, of course. 

It was now about noon, and they were feeling rather hungry, so at ashort distance from Charlecote they selected an inviting place by theroadside, and there they unpacked the lunch which Mrs. Pitt hadbrought. How good it did taste! They all thoroughly enjoyed thepicnic, and when a scarlet automobile went rushing past them, theladies' veils fluttering in the breeze, Betty merely remarked:--"Anauto's lovely, of course, but to-day I'd rather have a bicycle. Itseems more appropriate, somehow. "

"Yes, " Mrs. Pitt responded. "When you are in such a beautiful countyas this, and want to see it well, a bicycle is best. And then, I thinkit is more respectful to Shakespeare to go through his beloved hauntsat a fairly leisurely pace. I imagine that he never would haveunderstood how any one could care so little for Warwickshire as to gowhirling and jiggling along through it in a motor, at thirty miles anhour. "

Betty had absent-mindedly picked a daisy from the tall grass in whichshe was sitting, and was pulling off its petals, reciting the littleverse about:

 "Rich man, Poor man, Beggar man, Thief. "

"Oh, dear! It's thief!" she cried, making up a wry face. "I'd ratherhave any one than that!"

"Try the other verses, " suggested Barbara, entering into the fun. 

"What others?" asked Betty in much surprise. "I didn't know there wereany more. "

"Dear me, yes, " Mrs. Pitt broke in. "I used to know several of themmyself, --the one about the house:

 'Big house, Little house, Pig-stye, Barn, '

and about the conveyances:

 'Coach, Carriage, Spring-cart, Wheelbarrow. '

Wasn't there one more, Barbara? Oh, yes, about the dress materials:

 'Silk, Satin, Muslin, Rags. '"

"Well, well!" exclaimed Betty. "I never heard those. They must be justEnglish. "

"Perhaps so. At any rate, when I was a little girl, I used to saythem, and believe in them, too. I lived here in Warwickshire, in mychildhood, you know; my father was rector of a tiny village not farfrom Coventry. There are ever so many queer old rhymes, verses, andcustoms still common among Warwickshire children. "

"Tell Betty about some of them, Mother, " Barbara urged. "I'm sure thatshe'd like to hear, and we don't need to start on just yet. "

Mrs. Pitt leaned thoughtfully against the lowered bars, at theentrance to a field. "I'll have to think about it, " she said; but shesoon added, "There was the 'Wishing Tree. ' I remember that. "

"What was it?" the two girls eagerly questioned. John and Philip, privately considering this talk "silly stuff, " had retired to thefarther side of a hay-rick, where they were whittling industriously. 

"The 'Wishing Tree' was a large elm that stood in the park of aneighboring nobleman's estate. To all the girls of the village, it wasa favorite spot, and we used to steal through the hedge and verycautiously approach the tree. If the cross old gardener happened tosee us he'd come limping in our direction as fast as his lame legscould carry him, calling out angrily that if we did not 'shog offright away, he'd set his ten commandments in our faces. ' That's an oddexpression, isn't it? It's very, very old, --so old that Shakespearewas familiar with it and used it in one of his plays--'King Henry VI, 'I think. The gardener meant that he would scratch us with his tenfingers--but he wouldn't have, for he was too kind-hearted in spite ofhis threats. He was a queer man, with a brown, wrinkled old face. Ican see him just as though it were yesterday. "

"What was that you said?" asked Betty. "'Shog off!' What does itmean?"

"Simply Warwickshire for 'Go away, '" was Mrs. Pitt's careless answer. Her thoughts had gone back to her childhood. 

"You forgot to tell us what the 'Wishing Tree' was for, " Betty timidlysuggested, fearful of interrupting her reminiscences. 

"Why, so I did! We would tiptoe all alone up to the tree, and if, under its wide branches, we made a wish, we thought it was sure tocome true. There was another curious old game of finding out how manyyears we were to live, by a ball. We would bounce it upon the hardground, and catching it again and again in our hands, would chant allthe while:

 'Ball-ee, ball-ee, tell me true, How many years I've got to go through, One, two, three, four, --'

If that had proved true, I shouldn't be here to-day to tell of it, for I was never very skillful with the ball, and could only catch itten or fifteen times at the most. "

Mrs. Pitt laughed. "There is so much of ancient folk-lore here inWarwickshire, " she went on. "I remember that the old country peoplealways crossed themselves or said some charm for a protection, whenone lone magpie flew over their heads. That meant bad luck, for theverses said:

 'For one magpie means sorrow, Two, mirth, Three, a wedding, And four, a birth. '

Why, what is it, Barbara?"

Barbara had jumped to her feet, and was wildly waving her arms abouther head. "It's only a bee, " she said, rather ashamed. "I don't likethem quite so near. "

It was delightful to ride along on this "rare day in June, " throughthe fair county of Warwickshire, --the "Heart of England. " If they werejust a bit uncomfortably warm on the hill-top where the sun beat downupon the fields and open road, they were soon again in the beautifulwoodland, where the cool air refreshed them, or passing through thestreet of some remote village, shaded by giant elms. In each littlehamlet, as well as the row of peaceful thatched cottages, with smokecurling upwards from their chimneys, there was the ancientvine-covered church, with perhaps a Norman tower, where the rooksfound a home, and the gray old rectory close at hand. 

When Betty asked if it was in a church "like this" that Mrs. Pitt'sfather preached, and if her former home resembled the particularrectory they then chanced to be passing, Mrs. Pitt replied, "Yes, myhome was somewhat like this one. All English country churches andrectories look very much alike, --that is, almost all are vine-covered, and very old and quaint--yet, I think each has its own very distinctindividuality, too. "

Mrs. Pitt, of course, wanted some tea, so about four o'clock theystopped at a clean little cottage, near a stretch of woodland. Mrs. Pitt herself dismounted and stepped up to the door, which stoodhospitably open. A little flaxen-haired child ran out curiously at thesound of the knock, and then, frightened, scampered away to call hermother. That good woman, in her neat black dress and stiffly-starchedwhite apron, at once understood the situation. 

"You just seat yourselves there under the trees, " she ordered them, "and I'll bring right out a shive off a loaf of bread, and a tot o'tea for each of you. "

The young people looked puzzled at this speech, but Mrs. Pittsmilingly led the way to the place their hostess designated. In asurprisingly short time the woman brought out a table (having scornedthe assistance of the two boys), spread it with an immaculately cleancloth, and set thereon a very tempting loaf of brown bread and a potof steaming tea. There was also jam, of course. While they enjoyedtheir meal, she stood by, her hands on her hips, and a radiant smileupon her face at the praises of her guests. Every few moments thelittle girl would peep out from behind the cottage, and once shealmost came up to the group under the trees; but her mother, when shespied her, sent her hastily back, saying by way of an apology:--"She'sall swatched, but she's only my reckling, you must know. " As they rodeaway into the woods, the good woman stood in the middle of the roadwaving her table-cloth for good-by. 

"Wasn't she a dandy!" John burst out. "Couldn't understand what shesaid, though! Might just as well have been Greek!"

"She certainly did have some old Warwickshire expressions!" laughedMrs. Pitt. "I don't know when I've heard that word 'reckling. ' Itsimply means her youngest child, who she said was all 'swatched. ' Thatsignifies being untidy, but I am sure I couldn't see the tiniest spotof dirt anywhere upon the child. "

Betty was rather glad when they at last jumped off their bicycles atthe hotel in Leamington. 

"I guess I'm not used to quite such long rides as you, " she said. "Ithas been beautiful, though, and I wouldn't have come by train foranything. I just love Warwickshire, and everything about it, especially the language, which I mean to learn while I am here. "

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

WARWICK AND KENILWORTH CASTLES

The bicycles were returned to their owner in Stratford, and Mrs. Pitt's plan was to drive to Warwick and Kenilworth the following day. Consequently it was a great disappointment at breakfast-time to seegray and threatening clouds overhead, from which rain very soon beganto descend. The day was also very cold, and such a chilling wind wasblowing and whistling around the corners of the hotel, that fires werelighted in all the tiny grates. 

"Whoever heard of such cold weather in June!" John protested, not inthe best of spirits at being shut up in the house. "It's horrid, Isay! Ugh! If my fur coat was here, I should put it on, and then getinside the fireplace, too. "

At this very dismal burst of feeling from John, Mrs. Pitt came to therescue, suggesting a game of billiards. John brightened veryconsiderably after this, and the remainder of the day was pleasantlyspent in writing letters, playing games, and reading aloud fromScott's "Kenilworth, " in preparation for the morrow's visit to thatcastle. 

"Just think of seeing the very spot in the garden where QueenElizabeth met Amy Robsart! And perhaps the same room where she slept. Oh, I can hardly wait till morning!" sighed Betty rapturously. "Kenilworth" had long been one of her favorite books. 

At bedtime Mrs. Pitt, inwardly rather uncertain about the prospects ofthe weather, was outwardly most cheerful with her assurance that she"felt sure it would be fine in the morning. "

Mrs. Pitt was "usually right about things, " as the children had longsince discovered, and this proved no exception to the rule. The sunshone brightly on the morrow, and the whole country-side looked asthough it had been washed and cleaned so as to appear at its loveliestfor the visitors. 

The drive through Leamington revealed a very pretty watering-place, with baths, parks, gay streets of shops, and many neat little privatevillas, each being dignified by a name. 

"How do they ever find names enough to go around?" Betty thought toherself. 

They soon left the town behind, and a short drive along the perfectlysmooth, wide, country road, brought them to the well-known bridge overthe Avon, and revealed the fact that the river had not lost a bit ofits beauty since they left it at the Weir Brake. It is from thisbridge that the famous view of Warwick Castle is to be had, and a morecharming picture cannot well be imagined. Just at a bend of the river, the great gray front looms up, long and straight, the turrets here andthere giving it a most formidable air of old-time majesty andstrength. 

Leaving the carriage at the castle entrance, Mrs. Pitt led the way upthe narrow walk, bounded by high walls of rock, to which the damp mossclings and over which flowers and trailing vines hang. Finally theypassed under an old gateway with a portcullis, and found themselves inthe inner court-yard of the castle, which is almost round in shape. Old towers or buildings very nearly surround this court, and in thecenter is a wonderfully smooth grass-plot, which is sometimes used asa tennis-court. Several stately peacocks strutted about displayingtheir magnificent feathers. They were very tame, and almost allowedBetty to come near enough to touch them. She was delighted when thelargest most obligingly dropped a gorgeous feather at her very feet. 

"For a souvenir!" she exclaimed, as she picked it up. "How dear ofhim! I like peacocks even if they are proud! I would be, if I livedhere! They know how important they are, and that this garden wouldn'tbe complete without them. "

[Illustration: "THEY KNOW HOW IMPORTANT THEY ARE, AND THAT THIS GARDENWOULDN'T BE COMPLETE WITHOUT THEM. "--_Page 184. _]

"Do you see that high mound?" asked Mrs. Pitt, pointing to thenorthern end of the court. "There Æthelflæd, the daughter of Alfredthe Great, is supposed to have built a castle, and thus the history ofWarwick may be said to have commenced in 914. Just fancy! Since thatday, many great families have been in possession here (De Newburghs, Beauchamps, Nevilles, Plantagenets), --from traditional Guy of Warwickto 'Warwick the King-maker, ' and all along the line to the Grevillefamily, which has owned it since 1759. 'Warwick the King-maker, ' orRichard Neville, was the famous baron who possessed such wonderfulpower in England that he could make and unmake kings at his will. Itwas he who captured poor, weak Edward IV, and brought him here as aprisoner. Of Guy of Warwick, the great warrior and hero, I shalltell you more when we are at Guy's Cliff, where he lived. He is reallymore associated with that place than this. You will see here, however, what is known as 'Guy's Porridge Pot. ' It is an interesting oldvessel, very large and made of metal. Most probably it had nothingwhatever to do with the great Guy; some authorities consider, becauseof the existence of this little rhyme, that it belonged to a certainSir John Talbot, who died about 1365. 

 'There is nothing left of Talbot's name, But Talbot's pot and Talbot's Lane. '

But let's go over to that door by which we enter. There comes a guidewith his party; perhaps we can go in with them. "

They found the interior of Warwick Castle very delightful, and in aperfect state of preservation, for the family of the present Earloccupy it often. The ever-present Great Hall is here more grand andlofty than that of Charlecote, though it has not the appearance of asgreat antiquity as the one at beautiful Penshurst Place. Its walls arelined with old suits of armor, but, nevertheless, the room isfurnished with comfortable easy-chairs, as the family, when inresidence, use this as their living-room. Among the collection ofarmor is the helmet of Oliver Cromwell, and a whole miniature suit ofmail which was once worn by the little dwarfed son of Robert Dudley, the famous Earl of Leicester. In a great bay-window, overlooking theAvon, stands the huge caldron of Guy of Warwick. Strangely enough, anexquisite Elizabethan saddle of green velvet had found a temporaryresting-place in its great depths. 

"I think this Cedar Room is very beautiful, " remarked Mrs. Pitt, asthey stepped into that apartment. "Do you see that the walls areentirely of cedar wood from floor to ceiling? Isn't the effect rich, and doesn't it smell good? Do you notice the fine carving, and thepictures, --some of Van Dyck's best works? Oh! I must not call yourattention to so many things all at once!"

In the Green Drawing-room, the Red Drawing-room, the State Bed-room, and the various other rooms and corridors, are priceless treasures ofart; for besides invaluable paintings by the greatest masters, thereare here beautiful pieces of furniture, made of tortoise-shell andinlaid with gold or pearl, and ancient marriage-chests, which oncebelonged to Italian princesses of bygone days. The armory contains oneof the most valuable collections in England, and in the State Bed-roomare many relics of Queen Anne. One really wearies of so muchcostliness which it is utterly impossible to appreciate at one visit. 

"Haven't we time to walk in the gardens a little longer?" askedBarbara, wistfully. To her, Nature was nearer and dearer than all thewonders of art and history. 

After a ramble through the bewitchingly lovely gardens, --going acrossancient drawbridges, spanning long-unused, grass-grown moats; underlittle postern-gates; into rustic grottoes--they at last came to theconservatory, in which is preserved the "Warwick Vase. " This is madeof white marble, carved with various devices. 

"It has a curious history, " answered Mrs. Pitt, in reply to thechildren's questions. "In 1770, some workmen found it at the bottom ofa small lake which is about sixteen miles from Rome. Of course, it isnot possible to determine with any certainty how it came to be there, but as Hadrian's Villa was in A. D. 546 occupied by a king of theGoths, an enemy who was then laying siege to Rome, it has been thoughtthat the vase was cast into the lake, to save it from the hands of theinvaders. The second Earl of Warwick was its purchaser. "

Slowly and unwillingly they wended their way back through the gardens, to the central court of the castle, and then out under the oldgateway. 

"My!" cried John, "it must have taken heaps of soldiers to defend aplace like this in the Middle Ages! I wish I'd been here when it wasjust plumb full of great warriors, --when the moat had water in it, thedrawbridge worked, and sentinels called out to you for the password asyou came near the gate. I suppose they could peep out at you fromthose little windows up high, too. " John looked longingly back, asthey walked away. 

"Oh, yes!" continued Mrs. Pitt, in tones which made the girls shudder. "From those windows they rained shot down upon the enemy. And thereare little slits in the wall from which men poured boiling metal ortar upon those besieging the castle. Upon the roof of Guy's Towerthere, it is thought that a huge machine used to stand, --a machine forslinging down great stones. Oh, yes; there were dungeons here, too, --deep, dark, damp, and evil-smelling dungeons, into which manyprisoners were thrown. Why, it was from here that Piers Gaveston, theunfortunate favorite courtier of Edward II, was taken out and executedupon a hill close by. Underneath the fine halls where splendidbanquets were carried on, out of sight and reach of the fair gardensand lawns, there were always poor prisoners who were shut away fromthe daylight for years perhaps, and laboriously carving crests orverses in the stone walls, to while away the hours. "

Mrs. Pitt suddenly burst into peals of laughter as she saw the painedexpressions upon the faces of the two girls; then a glance at therapt, enthusiastic attention of John, caused her to become seriousagain. 

"Never mind, girls, " she said gravely. "Such things are now goneforever; people have advanced too far in their ideas to ever permit ofmore of those unjust acts and horrible punishments. I can neverbelieve that the world isn't growing daily better! And, boys, it isall very well to love and long for the golden deeds and knightlyideals of the men of mythical King Arthur's Court, for instance; readabout them all you can, and try to imitate them, but never wish backthe terrible conditions of warfare and brutality which existed at thetime. The kindly thoughts and acts will endure always, but therest, --never!"

Silently they took their seats in the carriage, and the coachman nextdrove them to Saint Mary's Church, which stands in the quaint villageof Warwick. Its old tower holds ten bells, and these play every fourhours. There is a different tune for each day, which is always changedat midnight. The Warwick towns-people, living near their church, musthave an enviable musical education, for they have continually dinnedin their ears all sorts of tunes, from the "Easter Hymn" to "The BlueBells of Scotland. "

On the site of Saint Mary's, an ancient church is believed to havestood, prior to William the Conqueror. The present edifice, havingbeen much altered and added to by various benefactors, and at veryvarious times, presents a rather confused and not especially pleasingappearance architecturally. All visitors to the town are attractedthere, however, by the presence of the Beauchamp Chapel, whichcontains the tomb of the Earl of Leicester. 

Having paid the entrance fee, Mrs. Pitt and her charges were permittedto descend the few steps leading from the church proper into theBeauchamp Chapel. It is very beautiful, and was built in 1443, byWilliam Beauchamp, Earl of Warwick, who intended it as his memorial. It was once most elaborate with its fine marbles, monuments adornedwith precious stones, and the gold statuettes which filled its niches, but these have long since been carried away. The tomb of AmbroseDudley, who was named the "Good Earl of Warwick, " stands in thecenter, and against the wall is that of the great Leicester and theCountess, his wife. 

"Look here, " called Mrs. Pitt. "Here lies their son, the little boywho wore the armor which you saw over at the castle. The inscriptionspeaks of him as 'That noble impe, the young Lord Denbigh, theirinfant son and heir. ' 'Impe' in those days had no such meaning ofmischievous as we give it to-day. It then simply signified a youngboy. "

Betty was much impressed by a small flight of winding stairs, just offthe chapel, which are entirely worn down in the middle. 

"Was it because so many monks went up there?" she asked. 

"Yes, so it is said, " was Mrs. Pitt's reply. "Perhaps it may have beena kind of confessional, where the monks knelt. "

There was one more thing in the church which they paused to note; thatis, the tomb of Fulke Greville, the first Lord Brooke, who was stabbedby a valet, in 1628. Greville was "servant to Queene Elizabeth, conceller to King James, and frend to Sir Philip Sidney, " as theinscription tells us; and it would seem that the greatest emphasis andrespect was even then given the fact that he was "frend to" the nobleSir Philip Sidney. 

Nearby, the quaint buildings of Leicester's Hospital still stand. Herewas a monastery until the Dissolution, or the breaking up, of all thereligious houses, under Henry VIII. When the property came into thehands of Leicester in 1571, he made the house into a hospital fortwelve men. The present brethren have all been soldiers of the Crown, who now receive a pension and are spending the remainder of theirdays in the sunny nooks and corners of the old timbered houses. One ofthese brethren who showed the party about, was a most curious oldcharacter, and afforded the young people no end of amusement. Heinvariably gave his information in a very loud voice, which wasabsolutely without expression, and his eyes were kept steadily fixedupon some distant point. 

He showed them the ancient hall in which Sir Fulke Greville oncereceived King James, and it seemed to give him the keenest pleasure todescribe how that King was "right royally entertained. "

"Oh, ye're right, lady, " he panted, "the 'ospital was founded byRobert Dudley, Lord Leicester, 'e 'o was much at Elizabeth's court, h'as you all know. And it's a descendant h'of 'is, or of 'is sister, as you may say, 'o 'as the right to appoint the master 'ere in this'ospital to this day. 'E's Lord D'Lisle and Dudley, of Penshurst Placeh'in Kent, --'im as is descended direct from the Lady Mary, sister ofRobert Dudley, 'o married Sir 'Enry Sidney. H'its 'e 'o appoints themaster h'over us this very day. But as I was saying, --it was 'erethat 'is Majesty King James was right royally h'entertained. "

"Yes, " broke in John, interrupting the rapid flow of expressionlesswords. "We'll remember that all right. " Then in an aside to Philip, hewhispered: "That's the ninth time he has said 'right royallyentertained. ' I'm going to keep count. "

Having examined an embroidered curtain, the work of Amy Robsart atCumnor Hall, the King of Dahomey's State Execution Sword, which seemeda bit out of place amid the surroundings, and an old battle-ax, supposed to have been used for one side or the other on the Field ofHastings, in 1066, they bade farewell to their guide (who had suddenlyceased his mechanical orations like a clock which has run down), anddrove away toward Kenilworth. 

Guy's Cliff next called for attention. It is first seen at the end ofa long, stately avenue lined by great trees. At the back of the castleflows a stream, at this point widened out into a miniature lake, onthe bank of which stands a very ancient, moss-covered Saxon mill. Thecastle across the water and the old mill make such very attractivepictures that their vicinity is always frequented by numbers ofartists, sitting under their big umbrellas. 

As the party stood under the trees by the mill, Mrs. Pitt gathered theyoung people about her. 

"Now, I want to tell you the story of Guy of Warwick, for whom thisGuy's Cliff was called. He lived long, long ago (if he really did liveat all), when England had great tracts of unsettled country, where menwere afraid to go for fear of horrible monsters. This brave young Guywas a strong warrior, and he became famous because he slew the Duncow, and other terrible animals which were tormenting the countryfolk. Guy later went off to the Crusades. These were pilgrimages whichdevout men made to Jerusalem, in the endeavor to win back that cityfrom the Turks. Guy was gone some time from England--yearsprobably--and when he came back, he lived the life of a hermit, in acave near here. The story goes that his wife used to carry food to himeach day, and that she never recognized him until he was dying andrevealed to her his identity. "

Here Mrs. Pitt was forced to pause for breath, and John broke inexcitedly, "Oh, let's go and see the cave! Can't we?"

"I'm afraid not, John. You see, Guy's Cliff belongs to Lord AlgernonPercy, and the cave is on his private premises. I fear we would not beallowed to visit it, --especially as the family is now in residence atthe castle. Did I tell you that Guy and his faithful wife were buriedtogether in the cave?"

After taking lunch at the King's Arms Hotel at Kenilworth, and seeingthe room in which Scott wrote his novel, they proceeded to the castle. The afternoon was warm and sunny, with a blue sky and a summer hazeover the landscape, --the kind of afternoon which invites one today-dreams. Consequently, Mrs. Pitt ensconced herself against thecrumbling wall of Cæsar's Tower, put up her umbrella to keep off theglare of the sun, and sat dreaming over the remains of the oncemagnificent castle. Meanwhile the young people, accompanied by aguide, climbed all over the ruin. They scrambled up narrow stairs inthick walls, climbed as high as it was safe to go on old towers, andexplored the dark chambers and passages near the old Banqueting-hall. 

"This tower is supposed to be where Amy Robsart's lodgings were, "their dignified guide told them, and then he boldly spoiled Betty'sdelight, by saying, "It's queer now how fascinated all visitors are byAmy Robsart. Of course, they've read of her in Scott's novel, butcuriously enough, that's the only part of the tale which is not takenstrictly from history. No one really knows whether Amy Robsart everwas at Kenilworth, and at any rate, it doesn't seem at all likely thatshe was here at the time of Queen Elizabeth's famous visit of 1563. "

"O dear!" Betty sighed, really bitterly disappointed. "I always likedthe part about Amy best of all, and now it isn't true at all!"

"Never mind, Miss; there would be plenty of interest attached to theold place, even if Scott had never written of it. Oh, I know it's agreat book, and makes that particular period of Kenilworth's historyremarkably vivid. What I mean is, that the old castle is not dependenton Scott for its grand history and reputation. " He looked above him atthe beautiful oriel-windows of the Banqueting-hall, as if he lovedevery stone there. After a few such speeches, even the children beganto notice that he was "different from most guides"; he used mostexcellent English, was very neatly dressed, had a pleasant, refinedface, and seemed to take an especial interest in the young people. 

The guide went on in his deep voice. "Kenilworth was built in 1120, byGeoffrey de Clinton, Lord Chamberlain to Henry I. Later, it came intothe possession of the great Simon de Montfort, and it thensuccessfully withstood a siege; but it was during the Civil Wars thatCromwell's soldiers reduced the splendid castle to these almostequally splendid ruins. Of course, it was at the height of its glorywhen the Earl of Leicester owned it, and Queen Elizabeth came here ona visit. I'm sure you have all read about that famous week, --of allthe pageants, feasts, carnivals, and displays of fireworks upon thelake. The lake was there; water covered all those low fields back ofthe castle. At that time, the main approach was here, " pointing towhere a rustic bridge crosses a little ravine. "There was once a largebridge there, and from that entrance the Queen had her first glimpseof the castle where she was to be so magnificently entertained. "

Just then Barbara saw that her mother had risen and was motioningthat it was time for them to go. So they reluctantly left the guide, thanking him as Philip handed him his fee. That gentleman (for so hereally seemed) doffed his hat most politely, and appeared genuinelysorry to have them go. As Betty turned to take a last look at the oldBanqueting-hall, she saw him standing just where they had left him, and a bit wistfully watching them walk away. When they were once againin the carriage and driving toward Coventry, they described the guideto Mrs. Pitt, who showed much interest. Barbara thought that he was apoor scholar or teacher, who was taking that way of earning a littleduring the summer months; John was sure he was a nobleman in disguise, for some highly romantic, secret reason; Philip could not even imaginewho he might be, so great was the mysterious atmosphere about him; butBetty added: "He's surely a gentleman, and he was such an interesting, polite guide, that I wish they were all like him. "

"Yes, it is curious, " agreed Mrs. Pitt. "I'd like to have been alongwith you, for I should have enjoyed studying him. I have once or twicebefore come across just such puzzling characters. I once spent amonth at a small hotel down in Devonshire, where there was ahead-waiter who always interested me. I decided that he must have ahistory, and it was proved that I was right when I discovered him afew months later, dining with a lady at one of the most aristocratichotels in London. I'll never forget my sensations when I realized whyhis face was so familiar, and where I had seen it before! That mysterywas never explained, and I'm afraid yours never will be. "

They found Coventry a delightful old town. Here it was that so many ofthe Miracle Plays used to be given in olden times. The "CoventryPlays" were famous, and Mrs. Pitt took the party to the court-yard ofSaint Mary's Hall, where they were wont to be performed; for suchentertainments always took place in the open air, --in squares orcourts, the stage being rudely constructed upon a wagon, which couldbe taken from place to place. 

At the corner of two streets is an absurd figure of "Peeping Tom, "which recalls the fabled ride of the Lady Godiva, and her sacrifice toprocure the freedom of the people of Coventry from unjust taxes. 

Coventry streets are very narrow and crooked (Hawthorne once said thatthey reminded him of Boston's winding ways), and there are manypicturesque houses, their upper stories jutting out over the street. One most charming example of sixteenth century architecture is Ford'sHospital, a home for forty aged women. The street front is unique inits construction of timbers, gables, and carvings. Inside is anoblong, paved court, overhung by the second story of the building. 

"It's like Leicester's Hospital at Warwick, only this is really morequaint, isn't it? The old ladies peeping out from their little roomsare dear! I'm going to make friends with them, " Betty declared, as shedisappeared under one of the low doorways. She was soon seenaccompanying an old dame on crutches, who was hobbling out to show offher bit of a garden, back of the house. 

On the return trip to Leamington, they were rather quiet. Having seenso many famous places, it was natural that they should wish to thinkthem over. The driver approached Leamington by another road than thatby which they had left it, and it took them past Stoneleigh Abbey, the country seat of Lord Leigh. It is situated in the midst ofwoodland, which has been called "the only real bit of old Arden Forestnow to be found in Warwickshire. "

"They say that the Abbey is remarkably beautiful, " said Mrs. Pitt, "but I've never been fortunate enough to see it at any nearer range. The house is not very old, having been erected in the eighteenthcentury, but it stands on the site of a Cistercian Abbey, of which onegateway still remains. "

It was late when they reached the hotel at Leamington, and they wereforced to hurry in order to be dressed in time for dinner. The gongfound them all assembled, however, for such a day of sight-seeingmakes one hungry. They all had a good laugh at Betty, for when she wascaught in a "brown study, " and Mrs. Pitt asked to hear her thoughts, she replied:

"Oh, I was thinking over what a lovely day it has been, --especially atKenilworth!" and then added with a sigh, "If I only could know whothat guide was, everything would be perfect!"

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

SHERWOOD FOREST AND HADDON HALL

Betty could scarcely sit still in the train which was carrying hertowards Mansfield, from sheer excitement at the anticipation ofactually seeing the haunts of Robin Hood. Ever since Mrs. Pitt hadmentioned that town as the gateway of the Sherwood Forest of Betty'sdreams, the name had seemed an enchanted one to her. As they had comeonly the comparatively short journey from Leeds, they arrived atMansfield in the middle of the morning, and being Friday, the publicsquare presented its usual busy scenes of market-day. Vendors wereshouting their wares, long-suffering babies who had been unwillinglybrought along were crying, women were loudly chattering in shrillvoices, and a poor little dog, who in some mysterious way was beingmade to play a part in a Punch and Judy Show, was yelping piteously. 

"Well, " began Betty, who could think of only Robin Hood--her dearhero, whose story was about to be made even more vivid toher--"perhaps this is the very market where he came when he had boughtout the butcher's stock of meat and was selling it for kisses to thelasses of the town. Oh, do you suppose it is the same place?"

"Why, no!" interrupted John, in the decisive tones which he alwaysused when confident of his superior knowledge. "'Nottingham Town' waswhere Robin Hood and his whole gang of fellows always went!"

"Yes, that was really more associated with the famous outlaw thanMansfield. You'll see Nottingham this afternoon, or, at any rate, to-morrow. Now, come this way to the Swan Hotel. While you girlsunpack, I'll see that some horses are harnessed so that we can soonset off to the forest. " Mrs. Pitt then led the way from themarket-square toward the inn of which she had spoken. 

Before the carriage was ready, the young people had thoroughlyexplored this remarkable old house. Perhaps the most notable thingabout it is the spiral staircase of solid oak, which is three hundredyears old; but the entire building is filled with little passages andunexpected, remote nooks and corners, which, like the quaint bedrooms, are crowded with curios, old pictures, and superb antique furniture. Betty declared she had never seen such a "darling old four-poster" asthe one which stood in her room, the favorite Number Nine for whichall visitors clamor. Altogether, they considered it a most delightfulplace, and Betty thought that without too great a stretch of theimagination, she could even think of Robin Hood or Little John there. 

The hostess hastened to prepare a delicious, early lunch especiallyfor the party, and having partaken of it, they went at once to theopen carriage which was drawn up in the odd little inn-yard. John, asusual, claimed the seat beside the driver, the others settledthemselves, and they started off. 

No sooner had they reached the open country than Betty's pent-upspirits overflowed entirely. 

"Oh, do you see that little river flowing through the meadows?" shesuddenly cried, standing up to point at it excitedly. "See the reedsalong its edges, the field of tall grain, and the old tree trunkwhich has fallen across the water! I just know that must be the placewhere Robin first met Little John. They had a fight on a narrowfoot-bridge, you know, and Little John (who wasn't 'little' at all)was the stronger, and tumbled Robin Hood over into the brook. Don'tyou remember, John? That looks exactly like the picture in my HowardPyle's 'Robin Hood, ' at home. Oh, I'm perfectly sure it must be thesame place! Aren't you, Mrs. Pitt?"

This enthusiasm of Betty's was soon caught by the rest, and during thewhole afternoon they took turns in telling, one after another, the"Merry Adventures of Robin Hood, " as they recalled them. There couldnot be a section of country which more perfectly suggests the settingfor that particular group of legends which has been associated withit. Here surely is the identical woodland through which Robin Hood andhis merry men roamed. No one could possibly mistake it! Here are thevery same trees, behind which one can almost see lurking the men in"Lincoln green. " Here are ideal little glades carpeted with daintyferns, here and there touched with the sunlight which flashes betweenthe leaves. Sometimes the road emerges from the forest, and windsalong through broad fields, --the "high road" bordered by green meadowsand hedgerows. 

"You know, " began Mrs. Pitt, her eyes sparkling with fun, "when Robinand his men had been in hiding for some days or weeks, perhaps, because the old Sheriff of Nottingham was trying particularly hard tocatch them at the time, some of the most venturesome ones, not beingable to exist longer under the restraint, would start off in search ofadventure; and leaving a bit reluctantly the heart of Sherwood Forest, they always made straight for the 'high road. ' Now in just such aplace as this, by the cross-roads, Little John, garbed as a grayfriar, met the three lasses who were carrying their eggs to the marketat Tuxford. He swung one basket from his rosary, about his neck, andtook one in either hand, and thus he accompanied the maids to town. AmI right? Is that the tale?"

"Yes, " continued Philip, taking up the story where his mother had leftoff; "then he went to a 'fair, thatched inn, ' you know, and he satdrinking with the tinker, the peddler, and the beggar, when the tworich brothers from Fountains Abbey came out to start again on theirjourney to York. Little John thought there'd be some fun, and perhapssome good money for him, if he decided to go part of the way withthem, so he did. Don't you remember that one brother was very tall andthin, and the other very short and stout? They were proud and ashamedof being seen on the road in the company of a poor friar whose gownwas too short for him, as was Little John's. But he insisted uponstaying by, and strode along between their two nags. Whenever they metanybody--beggars, fair lords and ladies, or fat Bishops--Little Johncalled out: 'Here we go; we three!'"

"And then, " broke in Betty, her face literally radiant, "don't youknow how Little John finally robbed them? That was best of all! Whenthey came to a certain parting of the ways, he did consent to leavethem, but first he asked for a few pence, as he was poor. Bothbrothers declared that they hadn't any money, at which Little Johninsisted upon their kneeling down on the dusty road and praying to thegood St. Dunstan to send them each ten shillings, so that they couldcontinue their journey in safety and comfort. You know, he thought itsuch a pity for two such worthy brothers to be in sore need of foodand drink!" The children were unconsciously lapsing into the languageof the Robin Hood stories, as they rattled on and on. 

"Well, " Betty went on, "Little John prayed and prayed, and then heasked the brothers to feel and see if the good St. Dunstan hadn't sentthem something. Time after time this performance was repeated, andstill they said they had nothing. Finally Little John himself felt intheir pouches and found, --oh, heaps of money! He left the brothers tenshillings each, and carried away the rest, saying he was sure that thegood St. Dunstan had meant it for him! Oh, I think I like Little Johnbest of all, --almost better even than Robin Hood! He always did suchcute things!"

By this time, they were nearing some of the big palaces which gavethis section of the country the name of "The Dukeries, " from the factthat so many noblemen have lived there. Earl Manvers, the Duke ofNewcastle, and the Duke of Portland, all have tremendous estatesbetween the towns of Worksop and Edwinstowe. Some of the statelyhouses were pointed out in the distance behind the trees, but neitherBarbara nor Betty, Philip nor John, paid the slightest heed to them. Their minds were fixed on Robin Hood, and they saw only the SherwoodForest which he knew. When Betty looked at Clumber House, across apretty little lake, she only said:

"Perhaps near that lake was where Robin found Alan-a-Dale, the dearminstrel. "

"Oh, no, Betty; it was by a fountain that he found Alan-a-Dale, "Barbara politely corrected. 

"Yes, that's so, Barbara, " Betty replied, in all seriousness. "Iforgot. "

There was one thing upon the estate of the Duke of Portland which didgreatly interest the party, however; that is, an old gnarled oak whichis called "Robin Hood's Larder. "

"Ye see, 'e came 'ere to store 'is venison, and to 'ang it up to dry. 'E was a clever chap, 'e was. 'E 'id it inside the trunk. " The drivergrinned from ear to ear, as he gave this valuable information. 

Getting out to explore, the children found that the huge tree ishollow, and propped up to postpone the sad day when it will surelycollapse altogether. Many old tree-trunks, all over Sherwood Forest, are like this, and in some of them John could stretch his full lengthupon the ground. Near "Robin Hood's Larder" is the spot where, according to Scott, the outlaw met with King Richard of the LionHeart, --or, at least, so say the local guidebooks. 

"Yes, " said Mrs. Pitt, understanding at once; "don't you remember thatin Scott's 'Ivanhoe'? Another version of this famous meeting is inHoward Pyle's book. King Richard was at Nottingham Town, you know, andhaving a curious desire to meet with Robin Hood, he and his friendswent into Sherwood Forest, dressed as friars. Robin and his men foundthem, of course, and made them guests at a feast. Later, there wasshooting, and Robin Hood, having once missed the mark, applied to theKing, whom he did not recognize, for a punishment. Thereupon KingRichard arose, rolled up his sleeve, and gave such a blow as Robin hadnever felt before. It was afterwards that Sir Richard of the Leaappeared upon the scene, and disclosed the identity of the powerfulstranger. Then Robin Hood, Little John, Will Scarlet, and Alan-a-Dalefollowed the King to London at the royal wish, and left Sherwood formany a long day. "

They were now passing through a very dense part of the wood. Closeabout the feet of the oaks, a thick, tangled underbrush grows. Some ofthe old trees seem to be gray with age, and their whitish, twistedbranches offer a sharp contrast to the dark shadows, and make a weird, ghostlike effect. 

"Oh!" exclaimed Betty, "it must have been in just such a spot as thisin the forest that Gurth in 'Ivanhoe' suddenly came upon a company ofRobin Hood's men. Gurth was the Saxon, you know. He had been to Isaac, the Jew, at York, and was carrying back the ransom money to hismaster, Ivanhoe. Of course, poor Gurth thought he would surely berobbed, when he discovered in whose society he was; but as you said, Mrs. Pitt, Robin Hood never took money from honest men, especiallywhen it was not their own. They led Gurth farther and farther into thedepths of Sherwood. I can just imagine it was a place likethis, --where the moonlight lit up these ghostly trees, and the redglow of the camp-fire showed Gurth's frightened face. He was quitesafe, though, for he proved that the money was his master's, and Robinlet him go, and even showed him the way to the 'skirts of the forest, 'as he did the Sheriff of Nottingham. "

All this time the carriage had been rolling along, and as they nearedan open space in the forest, John suddenly caught sight of somethingwhich made him turn to his friend, the driver, and exclaim: "Oh, whatare they?"

Stretching away for quite a distance on either side of the road wererows and rows of tiny, peaked houses or coops. The coachman told themthat here was where they breed the pheasants which are hunted. Whenthe birds have reached a certain age, they are set free, and a gun isfired in their midst to give them a taint of the wild. John was muchinterested, in spite of the fact that he considered it "a mean trick. "It really does not seem quite fair to take excellent, kindly care ofany animal or bird, allow it to believe you are its friend, and thento suddenly turn it loose and proceed to hunt it for mere sport. 

In strange contrast to the merry drive through Sherwood Forest, was alittle incident which occurred in a village on the edge of "TheDukeries" district, where they halted to water the horses. On one sideof the quaint main street is a row of old, old houses, where for manyyears have lived the aged people who are usually provided for by thenobleman to whom that village belongs. 

All the tiny houses were empty at the time of this visit, with theexception of one where lived a dear old lady, by herself, herneighbors having all died. Mrs. Pitt went in to call upon her, as domost strangers passing through here, and was touched by her patheticspeech. She said they were simply waiting to tear down the housesuntil she should go, and looking tearfully up into Mrs. Pitt's face, added: "I'm eighty-six years old now, and I won't last much longer, but I can't go until the Lord calls me, can I?" In spite of this, sheinsisted that she was quite happy, for she had her "good featherbed, "--and what more could she need?

The following morning, the party went by train to Nottingham, wherethey spent a short time in exploring. The present town is much likeothers, except in its legendary connection with Robin Hood. Allvisitors might not find it as fascinating as did Mrs. Pitt and theyoung people, who knew it as the abode of the disagreeable Sheriffwhom Robin Hood heartily hated, and upon whom he continually played somany tricks, always evading punishment most successfully. Theypictured the gay procession of soldiers and knights which accompaniedKing John when he entered that city, as the Sheriff's guest; and tothem the old market-square (the largest in all England) suggested thescene of Robin Hood's masquerade as a butcher. There they halted andimagined him standing beside his booth, and calling out: "Now who'llbuy? who'll buy? Four fixed prices have I. Three pennyworths of meat Isell to a fat friar or priest for sixpence, for I want not theircustom; stout aldermen I charge threepence, for it doth not matter tome whether they buy or not; to buxom dames I sell three pennyworths ofmeat for one penny, for I like their custom well; but to the bonnylass that hath a liking for a good tight butcher, I charge nought butone fair kiss, for I like her custom the best of all. "

"It was here in Nottingham that Will Stutely had his narrow escape, wasn't it?" questioned Betty. "He was captured by the Sheriff's menat 'Ye Blue Boar Inn, ' and they brought him to town and would havehanged him, if Robin Hood and his men hadn't arrived just in time tosave his life. Once Little John came to Nottingham Town and lived forsome time in the Sheriff's own castle, pretending to be the cook. My!what lots of things happened here!"

Not far away are splendid Chatsworth House, one of the palaces of theDuke of Devonshire, and lovely Haddon Hall, with its romantic story, and both of these famous places received a visit from Mrs. Pitt andher party. 

Chatsworth, I am afraid, was not fully appreciated by our friends. Ithas a most beautiful situation--in the valley of the Derwent, whichrushes along through the extensive park; the house itself ismagnificent--filled with fine marble halls and rooms, and costlytreasures of art; and in the gardens almost every sovereign of Europeseems to have planted some kind of a tree. One curious thing didwonderfully please the children's fancy; that is, a marvelousweeping-willow tree, from the metal twigs and branches of which tinystreams of water come at a sign from the gardener. But somehow, on thewhole, Chatsworth is cold and unfeeling, and failed to appeal to theparty. 

Not so was it with Haddon Hall! The most prosaic summer tourist couldhardly fail to be moved by admiration of its delights. It is still areal home, and seems alive with memories of the fair Dorothy Vernonand her family. The old castle has scarcely changed at all since thesixteenth century, and one feels as though the great lords and ladiesof Queen Elizabeth's time had thoughtfully stepped out on the terrace, in order that we might wander through their noble old dwelling. 

The custodian was having her afternoon-tea when the party arrived; shedid not think of hurrying in the slightest, but leisurely finishedthis most important meal, and then received the visitors' fees andallowed them to enter. 

"I feel as though I had walked into a story!" remarked Betty quietly. "Is Dorothy at home?"

The various buildings of Haddon Hall are built around two squarecourts. The oldest bit is the ancient chapel, in part dating fromNorman times, and in which the Vernon family worshiped for fourhundred years. It still contains some old wooden pews, and traces ofgrotesque paintings may be seen upon its walls. 

"Where are we going now?" whispered Barbara, keeping close to Betty, as the guide led them down a very dark passage, with an uneven stonefloor. "Oh, it's the kitchen!"

A light had now been struck, and the huge fireplaces of this kitchenof bygone days could be seen. Everything seemed complete, even to thewoodbox which once held the tremendous logs. 

"How in the world could they see to cook in such a dark place?"inquired the practical John. 

"Oh, there were probably great torches fastened to the walls, and thenthere are some tiny windows. When your eyes grow accustomed to the dimlight, you can see fairly well. I should think, though, that once in awhile, the cook might have put a little too much salt in the pasty, "Mrs. Pitt replied laughingly. 

An exceedingly curious feature of Haddon's Banqueting-hall is an ironbracket with a ring, which is between the entrance doors. Naturally, Mrs. Pitt was called upon to explain this. 

[Illustration: "IT STILL SEEMS ALIVE WITH MEMORIES OF THE FAIR DOROTHYVERNON. "--_Page 217. _]

"Well, " said she, "it's worth an explanation, for it has a strangepurpose. Any guest who could not or would not drink as much as wasrequired of him by the laws of hospitality, had his arm fastened up tothat ring, and what he had refused to take was poured down his sleeve. Fancy! For my part, I should consider that a sad waste! Speaking ofdrinking, I wonder if you really know what it means when a man pledgesor drinks a health. It's a very ancient custom! Back in the days ofSaxon England, it very often happened that a man would be stabbedwhile drinking, so it became the habit for him to turn to his neighborand ask if he would 'pledge' him. If he agreed, his duty was to keepguard over his friend who wished to drink. A trace of this cautionstill exists at Queen's College, Oxford. There the students who waitupon the 'fellows, ' stand behind them and place their right thumbsupon the table. "

The round steps in the Long Gallery are said to have been cut from onegreat oak, grown on the estate. Up these they went, and followed theguide to the celebrated Ball-room, which is so often and sobeautifully pictured. This long room is exquisite with its carvedpaneling, polished, inlaid floor, and lovely bay-windows overlookingthe terrace. 

"Here the ball was in progress at the time of Dorothy Vernon's escape. It was the wedding night of Dorothy's sister, wasn't it? At any rate, while every one was engrossed in the dancing and merrymaking, Dorothyquietly slipped away, ran through this door here, along the terrace, and out to a certain tree in the park where her lover was awaiting herwith the horses. That's the story, and certainly it is a pretty one, "concluded Mrs. Pitt. 

Just off the Ball-room is the State Bed-room, which claims to have hadQueen Elizabeth as an occupant. The great bed, fourteen feet sixinches high, is considered one of the finest in England, and isfinished in green velvet and white satin. 

They strolled out through Dorothy Vernon's door and along the lovelyterrace, over which the solemn yew-trees hang low. From here is seen acharming view of the garden, hemmed in upon one side by that part ofthe castle containing the Ball-room. The sun was just setting as theylingered upon the steps of the terrace, and it flooded everything witha golden light. The scene was so beautiful that all were silent asthey gazed and gazed. Betty finally rose with a deep sigh, and said:

"Well, I suppose Dorothy knew what she was about, but I'm sure that Ishould never have run away from Haddon Hall!"

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

WINCHESTER, SALISBURY, AND STONEHENGE

It was not until they were well on their way toward Winchester, thatMrs. Pitt found a chance to tell the young people something about thatancient city which they were so soon to see. 

"Winchester has a cathedral, hasn't it?" Betty had inquired. "I alwayslike to see those. "

"Yes, indeed, " replied Mrs. Pitt. "There surely is a cathedral, forit's the longest one in all Europe with the exception of St. Peter'sat Rome. I'm certain you will enjoy that; but what I think you'llappreciate even more are the associations which Winchester has withthe life of Alfred the Great. You all remember about him, don't you!"

"The fellow who burnt the cakes?" put in John, jeeringly. 

"Yes, but he was also 'the fellow' who led his army at a time whenthe country was in great danger--who dressed as a minstrel and daredto go even into the very camp of the enemy, so as to investigate theirmovements. You certainly like that in him, John?"

"I know it! That was great!" John answered warmly. "Please tell ussome more about him, Mrs. Pitt. "

"To me he has always been one of the most lovable as well as admirablecharacters in all our English history. He came to the throne at a timewhen his wise leadership was greatly needed, and he fought long andvaliantly for his country. When he burnt the cakes, John, it wasmerely because his thoughts were so busy with the plans for England'sfuture. Alfred made Winchester the capital of his whole realm, andhere he lived with all the court, when there was peace in the land. Part of Alfred's boyhood had been spent here, too, when he was thepupil of the wise St. Swithin; and, at Winchester, he made the goodand just laws for which he will always be remembered. Within the wallsof old Wolvesley Castle, the famous 'Anglo-Saxon Chronicle' wascommenced, at the command of the King. But besides all these usefuldeeds, Alfred had such a beautiful personality that his family andall the people of his kingdom loved him, and called him 'the perfectKing. ' I have long admired this little tribute which one historian hasgiven Alfred the Great. He says this; I think these are the verywords: 'He was loved by his father and mother, and even by all thepeople, above all by his brothers. As he advanced through the years ofinfancy and youth, his form appeared more comely than that of hisbrothers; in look, in speech, and in manners, he was more gracefulthan they. His noble nature implanted in him from his cradle a love ofwisdom above all things. ' And so, through all the centuries betweenhis time and ours, King Alfred's name has stood for all that is just, kind, wise, and beautiful. "

"Where was King Alfred buried, Mother?" asked Barbara. 

"I'll show you his grave--or what is supposed to be his. But here weare at Winchester now!" cried Mrs. Pitt; "and the sun has come outjust for our special benefit, too!"

In a "cathedral town, " one is usually drawn first of all to thecathedral itself, it being the central point about which the wholetown seems to cluster; and so it was that Mrs. Pitt led the way downthe shaded walk between the broad stretches of lawn surrounding thegreat structure. To her great disappointment, an ugly net-work ofstaging entirely spoiled the effect of the exterior of the building. 

"I once read a book which an American wrote about his trip abroad, "related Mrs. Pitt. "It amused me very much! After visiting a reallyremarkable number of churches and important buildings which wereundergoing reconstruction or strengthening, this gentleman venturedthe belief that the authorities must have made a mistake in the dateof his arrival, for everything seemed to point to the preparation of asplendid reception to him anywhere from a week to a month later. Ifeel that way to-day. The Winchester people certainly could not haveexpected us just yet. It's a pity that we cannot see this grandcathedral at its best!"

The usual feeling of quiet awe came over the party upon entering theedifice, and this was here somehow increased by the vastness of theinterior. Their footsteps echoed strangely on the stone floor, andlooking up at the arches above her head, Betty began to walk about ontiptoe. 

"The marriage of Queen Mary with Philip of Spain took place in thiscathedral, " Mrs. Pitt said. "In Bishop Langton's Chapel here, is anold chair said to have been used by the Queen at the ceremony. Noticethe six wooden chests above that screen. They contain the bones ofsome of the old, old kings--William Rufus, Canute, Egbert, Ethelwolf, and others. Once upon a time, there was a very famous shrinehere--that of St. Swithin. You remember the legend which tells how thebody of that saint was delayed from being removed to the chapelalready fitted to receive it, by forty days of rain. That's why whenwe have nasty, rainy weather in England, we always blame St. Swithin. 

"I'll show you the tomb of the well-known authoress, Jane Austen, andthat of Izaak Walton, who is buried in one of the chapels. The formerlived her last days and died in this town, and it was in the littleriver Itchen which flows through Winchester, that Izaak Walton used tofish. They were both laid to rest here in the cathedral, near thescenes which they dearly loved. "

The environs of the cathedral are very pretty, and one of the mostpicturesque features is the old Deanery, where Charles II once lodged. Just outside the cathedral close is the modest little house which wasJane Austen's home. 

Winchester School was visited, --a very famous old institution which isconnected with New College, Oxford, and was built by William ofWykeham in 1396, --and the vine-covered ruins of old Wolvesley Castle, which stand on the outskirts of the town, and near the river. 

"Didn't you say that this was where King Alfred had them write the'Anglo-Saxon Chronicle'?" Betty asked of Mrs. Pitt. "Will you pleasetell us what that was? I don't seem to remember very well. "

"Well, dear, the 'Anglo-Saxon Chronicle' is the 'first history of theEnglish People, ' as some one has correctly said. Part of it waswritten by Alfred himself, and the rest was done by others, under hisdirection. It is simply a record of all important events which werewritten down as they took place. The 'Chronicle' grew and grew forabout two hundred and fifty years, the last mention being of theaccession to the throne of Henry II, in 1154. For many years it waskept here at its birthplace, but it has now been moved to the libraryof Corpus Christi College at Oxford. You see, therefore, that thisimportant work really marked the start of the wonderful succession ofliterary productions which Englishmen have brought forth in these onethousand years. "

Quite at the other end of the town from Wolvesley Castle is the CountyCourt, a fine old hall, which once upon a time formed part of a castlebuilt by William the Conqueror. Mrs. Pitt had some difficulty infinding the caretaker who could admit them, and not until they wereactually inside did the children understand why she was so veryanxious that they should see it. 

Many were the exclamations of delight, however, when the guide pointedto the wall at one end of the Norman room, and told them that theround, flat object hanging thereupon was "King Arthur's Round Table. "

"What!" cried Betty, her mouth wide open in her excitement, "the verytable at which the knights sat!--Sir Lancelot, Sir Gawain, SirPerceval, Sir Galahad, and all the rest! Why, I never knew it washere, or I should have come to see it before anything else! To thinkof it's being the real table!"

It was hard for Mrs. Pitt to tell Betty that all the legendsconcerning this table are pure fiction. "Not all authorities considerits identity absolutely certain, " she admitted unwillingly, "but we'regoing to believe in it just the same. It must date from the sixthcentury! Fancy! However, it was all repainted in the time of HenryVIII, and these peculiar stripes and devices were the work of somesixteenth century brush. "

Betty sat right down on the floor, and stared up at the table of heradored King Arthur and his knights. With much difficulty could Mrs. Pitt persuade her to leave the hall, and that was not accomplisheduntil after Betty had trustingly inquired of the guide whether he knewwhere the chairs were in which the knights sat when they gatheredabout the table, for "she'd like so much to find them right away. "

Passing under a gate of the old city-wall, and along the quaintstreets of the town, the party came to Hyde Abbey, --or what little nowremains of it. 

"Alfred's body was first buried in the old minster (cathedral); thenit was carried to the new; and last of all, it was removed by themonks here to Hyde Abbey, which monastery Alfred himself had founded. In the eighteenth century the Abbey was almost entirely destroyed, andthen it was that Alfred's true burial-place was lost sight of. Laterstill, in making some excavations here, the workmen found an ancientcoffin which was examined and believed to be that of the King. Reverently it was reburied and marked with a flat stone, and thisdoubtful grave is the only trace we now have of Alfred the Great. "They had all quietly followed Mrs. Pitt to the spot where, across theway from the Abbey, they saw the grave. 

Before returning to the hotel that night, Mrs. Pitt suggested thatthey go to see the old Hospital of St. Cross. 

"It's only about a mile from the town, " she said. "There's a charminglittle path along the banks of the Itchen, and I think we'd enjoy thewalk in the cool of the afternoon. "

Mrs. Pitt was quite correct. It proved a delightful stroll, leadingthem to the fertile valley in which Henry de Blois built his Hospitalof St. Cross, by the side of the pleasant little river. 

"The Hospital was really founded by Henry de Blois, but threecenturies later, Cardinal Beaufort took much interest in it, made somechanges and improvements, and greatly aided in its support, " thechildren were told. "To this day, there is a distinction between theSt. Cross Brethren and the Beaufort Brethren, but this is chieflyconfined to the matter of dress. Seventeen men are living here now, and are most kindly treated, fed, clothed, and allowed to plant andtend their own tiny gardens. "

But the most interesting feature of St. Cross--that which in soremarkably vivid a way holds its connection with the past--is thedole. Since the reign of King Stephen, no one applying for food ordrink at the Beaufort Tower of St. Cross Hospital, has ever beenturned away. To each has been given, during all the centuries, a drinkof beer and a slice of bread. A slight distinction is made betweenvisitors by the scrutiny of the Brethren; for, to the tramp is handeda long draught of beer from a drinking-horn and a huge piece of bread, while to some are offered the old silver-mounted cup, and woodenplatter. 

"Can we have some?" John inquired. "I think I might not like the beer, but the bread would be all right, and I'm hungry!"

In spite of Betty's reproving cry of "Why, John!" Mrs. Pitt motionedhim to go up to the gate, and ring. 

"Yes, it's quite proper for us to apply for the dole, " she said. "Emerson and Carlyle once did so, and I imagine they were not in anygreater need of it than are we. "

As John received his portions and was looking at them a bit dubiously, Philip called out to him, "Don't take so much that you can't eat yourdinner, Jack!" and then, seeing that John had already set down thefood untouched, they all laughed merrily. 

After breakfasting at Winchester the following morning, an early traincarried the party to the town of Salisbury, there to see the fairestof the English cathedrals, --that is, in Mrs. Pitt's opinion, ofcourse. 

To say that Salisbury Cathedral stands in the center of a velvet-likelawn, to mention the fact that a little stream flows musically by, toadd that the towers and lines of the building itself are wonderfullygraceful, is attempting to describe things as they exist, but whollyinadequate in the impression which it gives to the reader. There is anindescribable fascination about Salisbury Cathedral, which a personmust see to understand. Any one who is at all responsive to the charmof great architecture, can sit for hours under the old trees on thelittle common, and drink in the whole scene, --the beautiful buildingwith its delicate shapes outlined in shadows upon the green grass. 

"No doubt it is a generally accepted fact that Lincoln is the finestof the English cathedrals, " Mrs. Pitt explained after a time. "PerhapsDurham comes next in line, and Canterbury has great historicalinterest. I only assert that to me Salisbury is the most beautiful. You know, Betty, that the construction of most cathedrals was extendedover many years, --even many generations, usually. Salisbury was anexception to that rule, for it was begun and finished within fortyyears (1220 to 1260), and therefore has rare harmony and uniformity ofstyle. "

There are many quaint streets and buildings in the town of Salisbury, but these become familiar though always delightful sights to thevisitor who gives a good share of his time to old England. Havingnoted the old-fashioned King's Arms Inn, which was a secretmeeting-place of the Royalists after the battle of Worcester, theparty had an early lunch, and then set out to drive the ten miles toStonehenge. 

The road which they took begins to ascend gradually, and after about amile and a half brought them to the high mound which was once "thelargest entrenched camp in the kingdom, " according to Betty'sleather-covered Baedeker. This was the site of Old Sarum, a fortduring the Roman occupation, and afterwards a Saxon town. Numerousinteresting remains of the camp are here, and the high elevationaffords an excellent view of Salisbury and the surrounding country. 

The rest of the drive was not particularly enjoyable. A sharp windblew over the high Salisbury Plains, which are bare and not verypicturesque to see. In the center of this great stretch of plainstands that strange relic of the past known as Stonehenge. Being on anelevation, the stones stand out weirdly against the sky as the visitorapproaches, and give him a foretaste of the peculiar mystery whichpervades the place. 

The section is surrounded by a wire fence, and a man collects a fee ofa shilling before admitting any one into the company of these giganticrocks, which are standing or lying about in various positions. Itseems as though there were originally two great circles, one insidethe other, formed by huge oblong stones, set up on end as a childmight arrange his blocks. On the tops of these, others are in someplaces still poised, though many have fallen. One great stone liesbroken across the altar. 

After the young people had climbed about and thoroughly explored theruins, they gathered around Mrs. Pitt to hear her explanation of theplace. 

"Well, " she began, "it is generally believed that we see here theremains of an ancient temple of the Druids. They were half-mythicalcreatures who are thought to have inhabited England in prehistorictimes. They worshiped Nature, --particularly the Sun, and livedout-of-doors entirely. Most people consider them to have been theoriginators of this strange work, though it has also been attributedto the Saxons, the Danes, and, I believe, even the Phoenicians. Butno matter what people were the real builders, there still remains thequestion of how these tremendous stones were brought here in days whenthere was no machinery, and in a district near which no stone-quarriescould possibly have been. That has puzzled men in all ages. "

The laughter and chatter of the members of a large "PersonallyConducted" party, who were having their late lunch in the field justoutside the picket-fence, grated upon Mrs. Pitt's nerves. Even morethan in a cathedral with solid walls and a roof, here in thisopen-air, ruined temple, dating from unknown ages, one is filled withdeepest reverence. It almost seems possible to see the ancient Druidswho worshiped there, dressed in robes of purest white. 

In spite of the blue sky, the bright sunshine of early afternoon, andthe nearness of very noisy, human tourists, Betty so felt the strangeatmosphere which envelopes these huge sentinels of the past, that shesuddenly exclaimed:

"Oh, please, Mrs. Pitt, let's go back to Salisbury! I can't bear thisany longer. "

[Illustration: "THERE STILL REMAINS THE QUESTION OF HOW THESETREMENDOUS STONES WERE BROUGHT HERE. " _Page 236. _]

So they drove slowly away over the fields, and as Mrs. Pitt turned fora last glance behind, she saw the stones looming up in lonely majesty, and thought to herself, "They have a secret which no one will everknow. "

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CLOVELLY

A big, high, lumbering coach with four horses was slowly carrying Mrs. Pitt and her young charges toward Clovelly, --that most famous of allEnglish fishing-villages. Betty, having discovered a photograph of itsome weeks before, had not ceased talking to the others of her greatdesire to see the place; and finally Mrs. Pitt postponed her plans forvisiting other and more instructive towns, packed up the young people, and started for lovely Devonshire. "Well, " the kind lady had thoughtto herself, "perhaps it will be just as well for them to have a shortholiday, and go to a pretty spot where they can simply amusethemselves, and not have to learn too much history. Bless their littlehearts! They surely deserve it, for their brains have been kept quitebusy all the spring, --and I believe I shall enjoy Clovelly once again, myself!"

Now that they were actually there, the realization was proving evenmore delightful than the anticipation. The weather was perfect, and todrive along the cliffs and moors, with a fresh, cool breeze blowing upfrom the blue water below, was wonderfully exhilarating. Their routeled through a country where innumerable bright red poppies grow in thefields of grain, and where there are genuine "Devonshire lanes, " shutin by tall hedges and wild flowers. Sometimes they clattered throughthe narrow streets of a tiny village, while the coachman snapped hiswhip, and the postilion in his scarlet coat and brass buttons, soundedhis bugle loudly. As they rolled by farmhouses, heads would appearcuriously at the windows, while children ran out to watch thatimportant event, --the passing of the daily coach. One rosy-cheekedgirl in a blue pinafore tossed a bunch of yellow cowslips up into Mrs. Pitt's lap, calling out, "Cowslips, lady; thank ye!" When a sixpencewas thrown down to her, she smiled, courtesied primly, and thendisappeared into the nearest cottage, --one of plaster and thatch, overgrown with roses. 

However, the crowning joy of the day, even in the opinion of John, who was difficult to please, was the first glimpse of quaint littleClovelly itself. The coach set them down in the middle of a field; afew seafaring men stood about, there was a booth or two where oldwomen sold fruit, a steep path was before them, but no town wasanywhere in sight. 

"Don't let's go down there, " John grumbled. "What's the use? I'd muchrather stay up on that front seat with the driver. "

Mrs. Pitt smiled knowingly, and still led the way on down the walk. The hedges on either side were so high and thick that they could notsee beyond them, and the children were really speechless when the pathsuddenly came to an end, and the whole queer little street of Clovellylay before them. For a second no word was spoken, then all burst outat once. 

"Well, what do you think of that?" chuckled John. "Just look at thedonkeys!"

"And the pink and white doll's houses!" exclaimed Barbara. 

"And the funny cobble-stone street!" cried Philip. 

[Illustration: ONE OF PLASTER AND THATCH, OVERGROWN WITH ROSES. --_Page239. _]

"And the blue, blue water at its feet!" rhymed Betty, allunconsciously. "I just know the Mediterranean isn't any bluer!"

"Isn't it the dearest, oddest little place!" put in Mrs. Pitt, summingup all the children's remarks in one. "I do think it's----. " But hereBetty interrupted her. 

"Look at that little girl!" she fairly screamed. "Don't let her rundown that steep street like that! She mustn't do it!"

Mrs. Pitt, after one look at the child, merely laughed and replied, "Don't worry, Betty; she's used to it. She's probably done it all herlife, and she'll never fall. Now, I turn you all loose for two hours. Explore the place to your heart's content, for it will be long beforeyou see such another. Come to the New Inn (that's it, where the signis!) at one-thirty for luncheon. "

Enthusiastically the four started off. At first they all picked theirway carefully and slowly down over the smooth, slippery stones, butgradually they became more expert in keeping their balance, and couldgo faster. The two boys made straight for the foot of the town to seethe harbor and fishing-boats; Barbara and Betty were bent oninvestigating all the nooks, corners, and tiny shops of the littleplace; and Mrs. Pitt contentedly settled herself on the miniaturepiazza of the New Inn, and looked with never-failing interest anddelight at the scene before her. 

To explain more in detail, Clovelly is built in what was once atorrent-bed, and the village tumbles down from the top of the cliff tothe very edge of Hartland Bay. The droll, Italian-like cottages clingto the hillside, or seem to grow directly out of the gray rock. Atfirst, the street descends rather gradually and straight, but after ashort distance, it zigzags first to left and then to right, twists andturns, takes one under parts of houses, into private yards, out tolook-off points, and then pitches very, very abruptly down to the RedLion Inn, which guards the little harbor with its long, curvingsea-wall and tiny lighthouse. 

From where Mrs. Pitt sat she had a splendid view up and down thestreet, which was then crowded, it being the busiest time of theseason. Just below her, up against the piazza, sat an artist, benteagerly forward toward his easel, and absolutely oblivious of thethrongs of people who were noisily passing close by. There weretourists in gay attire, children romping about in their queer shoeswith nails on the bottom to prevent slipping, big stalwart men slidingluggage down on sledges, and patient little mules, which struggled upwith big trunks fastened to shelf-like saddles over their backs. Tothis busy scene the bright little dwellings which line the way, addthe finishing touch. The roof of one house is on a level with thesecond-story window of that above it; the vines are luxuriant, climbing sometimes up over the very chimneys, and flower-beds andflower-boxes are everywhere. A holiday, festive air seems universal. 

"Where can one see such a scene?" mused Mrs. Pitt. "Not in Italysurely, for there the 'picturesque dirt, ' as they call it, is so muchin evidence. For my part, I prefer the exquisite neatness andcleanliness of Clovelly. "

Lunch at the New Inn tasted very good, --especially as here the youngpeople first made the acquaintance of the much-praised "Devonshirecream. " Served with wild strawberries, or any other fruit, this thickcream is truly delicious, and unlike anything else. The meal itselfwas partaken of in the Annex, a larger, newer house across the way, but having finished, the party returned to the original hostelry. Itis the tiniest house imaginable, and the little rooms are so crowdedwith furniture, the landlord's collection of fine old china, andknick-knacks of all sorts, that John endangered many valued treasuresby his awkward movements. Once, in passing some people in the hall, his elbow struck a small cabinet of blue china, and there would havebeen a terrible catastrophe had not Mrs. Pitt arrived upon the sceneat the opportune moment. 

"Oh, bother!" exclaimed John, very much irritated, and more ashamed ofhis clumsiness than he cared to show. "How can a fellow have room tobreathe in a bandbox like this! Come along, Philip; I'm going down totalk some more with those sailors. "

The old fishermen who can no longer follow their loved trade sitsunning themselves comfortably on the doorsteps of their Clovellyhomes, gazing dreamily out to sea. When Mrs. Pitt, Barbara, and Bettywent to find the boys toward tea-time, they discovered them sitting bya group of these old cronies, who were ensconced upon a benchaffording a beautiful view of the lower part of the town, the bay, andthe cliffs of the rugged coast. The tide had filled the littleharbor, and numerous small boats with copper-colored sails bobbedabout on the opal waters; near the Red Lion Inn stood a row ofsleepy-looking mules waiting for the start up the street. 

The men had been exchanging fishermen's yarns, much to the pleasure oftheir audience, but when the ladies appeared, they commenced tellingghost-stories or curious bits of folk-lore. One tale especially amusedthe girls, although John thought he preferred the wild adventures ofthe sea. 

After looking long out over the bay, the particular old salt who wasthen entertaining them, removed the pipe from between his teeth, andbegan the following. Mrs. Pitt took pains to remember it, and this ishow it reads to this very day in her journal:

"The father of a certain fair young girl had been carried off bysmugglers, and kept for 'a year and a day, '--until a large sum ofmoney was finally paid for his release. He only lived a short timeafter his return home, however, and his daughter died soon after, wornout by anxiety about her father. This young lady's ghost continuallyhaunts a certain little village in Devon, where some of the fisherfolkwere said to have taken part in the kidnaping of her father. Insteadof doing anything more violent, the ghost simply appears on Sundaymornings, just as the dinners are being cooked, and touches the meatwith her white, bony hand, thereby rendering it unfit to eat. "

Mrs. Pitt's famous journal, which is often referred to, contains alsothis story heard that day at Clovelly:

"In front of a certain farm-house was a large, flat stone, whichtradition said was as old as the Flood. Here, at midnight, therealways appeared a female figure, clad in a gray cloak and anold-fashioned black bonnet. The apparition would remain there untildawn, always knocking, knocking upon the stone. The inhabitants of thehouse nearby became so used to 'Nelly the Knocker, ' as she was called, that they paid no attention whatever to her, did not fear her in theleast, and would even stop to examine her queer garments. Finally, however, two young men of the family decided to solve the mystery, sothey blasted the rock one day. To their great surprise, underneathwere lying two large urns, packed with gold, which treasure enrichedthem for the rest of their days. But 'Nelly the Knocker' came nomore. "

In place of repairing to the somewhat stuffy dining-room at the inn, they had their tea just outside one of the most sightly cottages, andwere served by a pretty young girl. The china was coarse and the thickslices, cut with a big knife from huge loaves of bread, were by nomeans daintily served, but it could not have tasted better, and Johnate a truly alarming amount of bread and jam. 

At Clovelly, the summer twilights are very long and lovely, and downon the breakwater our friends enjoyed this one to the full. One mightlook over the blue expanse of bay and see the faint outlines of thecoast of Wales, and then turn and gaze at the picturesque harbor andthe quaint, hanging village, in the houses of which, lights wereslowly beginning to twinkle, one after another. They stayed until itwas quite dark, and were even then loath to wend their way up thesteep street, and to waste so many hours by going to bed in the"Doll's House, " as John persisted in calling the New Inn. 

"Well, " said Betty comfortingly, "it will be fun after all, --sleepingin that funny wee inn, where there are only four bedrooms in the wholehouse. I choose the one with the pink rose peeping in the window! Isaw it this morning. Come on. "

The next day dawned as fair as one could wish, and at Mrs. Pitt'ssuggestion a walk along the "Hobby Drive" was first taken. Thischarming road was built by a Mr. Hamlin, the owner of the town ofClovelly, who lives at Clovelly Court. The drive starts just at thetop of the village, and extends for three miles along the edge of thecliffs. The views are startlingly beautiful! Through the fresh greenof the trees and vines, glimpses of the deep blue sea are to be had, and to add to the vivid coloring, there is the peculiar red rock whichbelongs to that part of the coast. 

As they were retracing their steps, Mrs. Pitt said with slighthesitation:

"I promise not to give you very much history while you are here, but Imust tell you just a bit about the relation which all this countrybears to Charles Kingsley's great book, 'Westward Ho!' Have you neverread it, John? Fancy! I'll get it for you at once! Well, Bideford isthe nearest town to Clovelly, and it was from there that Amyas Leigh, Salvation Yeo, and all the rest set out with Sir Francis Drake. By theby, that very sailor, Salvation Yeo, was born in the old Red Lion Inn, at the foot of the Clovelly street. Oh, you'd like him, John, and allhis brave adventures! At Clovelly Court, in the days of the story, lived Will Cary, another of the well-known characters in 'WestwardHo!, ' and in the little parish church very near there, CharlesKingsley's father was rector. Kingsley himself was at Clovelly a greatdeal, and probably gained here his knowledge of the seas and those whosail them. One of those old fishermen last night (he who claimed to beninety-eight) told me that he used to know Charles Kingsley well, andI suppose it is possible. "

That afternoon toward tea-time, after another fascinating roam aboutthe town, --into its back-yards and blind alleys, and along its pebblybeach, --as well as numerous exciting rides on the backs of the mules, the party gathered on the tiny veranda of the New Inn, crowding it toits utmost capacity. The purpose of this formal meeting was to decidewhere they should go the following morning, as they were then leavingClovelly. Mrs. Pitt had promised them a week more of play inDevonshire before their trip to Canterbury, and she advised visits toBideford, Minehead, Porlock, Lynton, Lynmouth, and finally Torquay. Asthe young people had no ideas of their own upon the subject and asthey had vast confidence in anything Mrs. Pitt proposed, this plan wasat once adopted. 

"These places are all by the sea, " Mrs. Pitt continued, "and I'm quitesure you'll like them. Torquay is just a watering-place, with bighotels, terraces, and gardens, but oh! it is so lovely, and nearby isthe duckiest little village of Cockington! You'll never leave thethatched cottages there, Betty! Lynmouth is very fine, with itscombination of mountain and seaside views, and its moors. Close by isthe Doone Valley, which figures so prominently in the story of 'LornaDoone, ' and we'll visit that. It will all be beautiful--beautiful asonly England and Devonshire can be--but you'll find nothing at alllike this strange little Clovelly, so enjoy it while you may!"

[Illustration: "YOU'LL FIND NOTHING AT ALL LIKE THIS STRANGE LITTLECLOVELLY. "--_Page 250. _]

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

ROCHESTER AND CANTERBURY

As soon as the familiar chugging of the motor was heard at the frontdoor in Cavendish Square, John hurried out. Just as he was examiningall the chauffeur's arrangements for the trip, and looking withapproval over the entire automobile, the whir of the engine suddenlygasped, struggled to catch its breath, and then ceased altogether. Thechauffeur, perfectly unconcerned, swung himself off from his seat andsauntered around to "crank her up, " but his expression of assurancesoon changed, for the motor refused to start. 

John's face was pitiful to see. "Oh, bother!" he cried, running towhere the chauffeur stood, in front of the hood. "Why has it got to goand spoil it all like that! It's mean, I say! Can't you fix her?What's wrong?"

Off came the chauffeur's nicely-brushed coat, his clean hands handledoily tools, and a big streak of grease soon appeared upon histrousers. Great was his humiliation! After about fifteen minutes ofdisagreeable work, all was well, however, --the engine started, and thesound was again smooth and steady. John's expression was radiant, andhe came to help the ladies in, while the forlorn chauffeur retired tomake himself presentable. 

"Now, we're off for Canterbury!" John announced triumphantly, as theyat last glided around a corner into Piccadilly. 

Slowly and carefully they wended their way down to London Bridge, crossed, and stopped for a moment before the site of the old TabardInn. 

"I'm going to take you to Canterbury by the very road which Chaucer'spilgrims in all probability traveled, and I thought that to make theillusion as perfect as possible, we really should halt here inSouthwark. This is where the pilgrims met, you know, and from herethey set out in the lovely month of April: the 'verray perfight, gentil knight, ' his son, the gay young squire, the stout Wife of Bath, the dainty prioress, the pale clerk (or scholar), the merchant withhis fine beaver hat, the parson, the plowman, the pardonner, thesummoner, the cook, and all the rest! They traveled on horseback, youremember, and to beguile the tedious hours when they advanced slowlyalong the dusty road, they took turns in telling the stories whichChaucer gives us in the wonderful 'Canterbury Tales. '"

"I never did know just why they went, " Betty ventured, in someconfusion lest they should laugh at her. 

"Neither did I!" John promptly seconded. "Please tell us, Mrs. Pitt. "

"Dear me, yes! I certainly will, for you must surely understand that!"After pausing a moment in order to think how best to make her meaningclear, Mrs. Pitt went on in her pleasant voice. "You see, pilgrimageswere always made to some especial shrine! We'll take Becket's for anexample. After his terrible murder, Becket was immediately canonized(that is, made a saint), and for many years a very celebrated shrineto him existed at Canterbury Cathedral. In those days, sumptuousvelvets and abundant jewels adorned the shrines, and if a personjourneyed to one, it meant that his sins were all atoned for. It was avery easy thing, you see. If a man had committed a wrong, all he hadto do was to go to some shrine, say certain prayers there, and hethought himself forgiven. Such trips cost men practically nothing, forpilgrims might usually be freely cared for at the monasteries alongthe route; a man was quite sure of good company; and altogether, itwas very pleasant to see the world in this way. The numerous terribledangers to be met with only added the spice of excitement to many. Inshort, such numbers of poor men started off on these religiouspilgrimages, leaving their families uncared for, that the clergyfinally were forced to interfere. Laws were then made which compelleda man to procure a license for the privilege of going to a shrine, andthese permits were not granted to all. You understand then, thattoward noted shrines such as St. Thomas à Becket's, pilgrims singlyand in companies were always flocking, and among these was the littlegroup which Chaucer has made so familiar and real to us all. "

"Here's Deptford, " announced John by and by, seeing the name upon somesign. "What went on here?"

"What makes you think anything 'went on here'!" Mrs. Pitt exclaimed. "Fancy! What a curious boy!"

"Oh!" John burst out. "That's easy enough! I haven't seen more thanabout two or three places in all this country where some fellow didn'tdo something, or some important thing go on. "

Mrs. Pitt pushed up her veil, removed her glasses, and wiped the tearsof laughter from her eyes. "I think you are about right, John. Andsomething did happen here in Deptford; in fact, there were severalthings. First, I'll tell you that it was here that Queen Elizabethcame in 1581 and visited the ship in which Drake had been around theworld. The Queen dined on board the vessel and knighted Drake whilethere. Event number two was the death of Christopher Marlowe, one ofthe greatest of all England's dramatists. Marlowe was only thirtyyears old when he was killed in a vulgar fight in a tavern. Fancy!Poor Anne of Cleves, after the early divorce from her royal husband, lived near Deptford, at Place House. Writers say that she used oftento go up to London, and visit the Court, just as though she had notbeen (for a few short days, to be sure) the 'first lady of the land, 'as you Americans say. Poor Anne! She always seemed a pitiful characterto my mind. She couldn't help it if Henry VIII didn't find her good tolook upon!"

Beyond Deptford, as they were smoothly gliding along, all at oncethere came a loud report. 

"Goodness!" cried John. "What in the world was that!" Then he shoutedwith laughter at the frightened expression on Betty's face. 

"Dearie me! It must be a 'blow-out'! Is that the trouble, Jo? Yes?Well, come, girls; we may as well step out. " There was forcedresignation in Mrs. Pitt's voice; she was trying not to mind thedelay. 

For forty minutes she and the girls sat by the roadside and watchedthe chauffeur and the two boys at work on the tire. It seemed asthough every part of this operation took longer than usual. The toolsseemed never so easily mislaid; it surely was a longer task than everto inflate the tube, and then to fit on the wheel-rim. Finally, however, the three rose, grimy and dusty, but triumphant, and ready toset forth once again. 

The accident came just at the edge of Blackheath, amid very historicsurroundings. Some one has called Blackheath the Rotten Row of theolden days, for there royalty and fashionable people of the town wentto ride and disport themselves, just as they now do in Hyde Park; andthere important guests on the way to London, were wont to be met withmuch ceremony by the Mayor and certain great citizens. After thebattle of Agincourt, the victor, Henry V, when returning to London, was given a magnificent reception at Blackheath, and many were thespeeches of praise which had been prepared. The great soldier cut themall short, however, insisting that the honor be given God. AtBlackheath, his descendant, Henry VIII, first saw Anne of Cleves(officially, that is), and straightway decided to divorce her. Butperhaps the most joyful scene of all those at Blackheath, took placeon the May morning when Charles II came into his own, and all Englandwas glad, after the dark days of the Commonwealth and the iron rule ofthe sober Puritans. 

"This, " declared Mrs. Pitt a little later, "is 'Shooter's Hill. ' Thatshould bear a familiar sound. How many have ever read Dickens's 'Taleof Two Cities'? You have, I know, Philip. Well, in the second chapter, the stage which carried Mr. Jarvis Lorry on his way, is described asslowly mounting this very hill, while most of its passengers toilalong the wet, snowy road, by its side. Do you remember, Betty? Youmust try to think over all of Dickens's works which you have everread, for we are coming to a district which that author knew well andoften put into his novels. "

Sure enough, they almost felt as though they had stepped into theworld of Dickens's stories, for so many of the places mentionedtherein they were able to find. Slowly they drove through Rochester'sstreets, stopping when they came to any spot of especial interest. 

"Here's the old Bull Inn, " said Mrs. Pitt, pointing it out as shespoke. "It is supposed that there are no less than twenty-five innsnamed in Dickens's 'Pickwick Papers' alone. This is one of them, forRoom Number Seventeen was Mr. Pickwick's bedroom, and there is alsoWinkle's, which was 'inside of Mr. Tupman's. ' Come, shall we go in?"

The landlord of the Bull has most carefully preserved and cared forall which is of even the slightest interest in connection with Dickensor his books. He most kindly took Mrs. Pitt and her party all aboutthe old house, showing them everything, --including the room where thefamous ball in "Pickwick Papers" was held. 

Leaving the Bull, they noted the Crown Inn, on the site of the onewhere Henry VIII went privately to take a look at Anne of Cleves, andthe old White Hart, built in Richard II's reign, which once shelteredSamuel Pepys. In Restoration House (built in 1587) Charles II stayedafter his landing at Dover. 

"'Dickens wrote thus about Restoration House in "GreatExpectations, "'" Betty read from the guidebook. "'I had stopped tolook at the house as I passed, and its seared red brick walls, blockedwindows and strong green ivy clasping even the stacks of chimneys withits twigs and tendrils, as if with sinewy arms, made up a rich andattractive mystery. '"

"Doesn't that describe it exactly?" exclaimed Mrs. Pitt, withenthusiasm. "That house always fascinated me, too. When Dickens lastvisited Rochester, it is said that he was seen gazing long at this oldplace, and some have thought that the result of those reflectionswould have appeared in the next chapter of 'Edwin Drood, ' which novel, as you know, he never finished. Now, we'll drive out to take a lookat Gad's Hill. Luckily, this is Wednesday, so we will be admitted. "

After making inquiries, Mrs. Pitt learned that the owner of Gad's Hillthrows it open only on the afternoon of each Wednesday; so they tooktheir luncheon first, and then motored the mile and a half toDickens's home. 

Gad's Hill is charming! Dickens was devoted to this square, vine-covered house, where he resided from 1856 to the time of hisdeath, in 1870. The story goes that when he was a small boy the placehad a great attraction for him, and that one day his father, wishingto spur him on in a way peculiar to parents, reminded him that if heworked hard and persevered until he was a grown man, he might own thatvery estate, or one like it. 

As they left the house, Mrs. Pitt said, "This hill is the spot wheretook place the robbery of the travelers in Shakespeare's 'Henry IV. 'The inn just opposite Gad's Hill is the Falstaff Inn, probably builtabout Queen Anne's time. It used to have an old sign with pictures ofFalstaff and the 'Merry Wives of Windsor' upon it. I read that in theolden days ninety coaches daily stopped here. Fancy!"

"Well, " observed Betty, "I shall certainly enjoy reading Dickensbetter than ever, when I get home, for now I've seen his study wherehe wrote. It makes things so much more real somehow, doesn't it, Mrs. Pitt?"

Having visited the cathedral and the old castle, they now leftRochester, and found that the run to Canterbury was rather longer thanthey had realized. 

"But really, you know, " Mrs. Pitt had intervened, "Rochester is justabout halfway between the two, London and Canterbury, I would say. Andwe did stop quite a bit to see the sights connected with Dickens. "

At last, however, about six in the afternoon, they came in sight ofCanterbury, its great cathedral towering over all, --its timberedhouses, old city-gate, and narrow, picturesque streets. As usual, theyoung people who never seemed to need a rest, desired to startsight-seeing at once, but unfortunately a sudden thunder-shower cameup to prevent. 

"Oh, well, it will stop soon, " Betty assured them. "It always does inEngland. "

This time, the weather was not so kind, however. The rain continuedpersistently, and the party was forced to remain at the inn the entireevening. 

Sunshine, even though it be sometimes a bit dim and watery, is neverlong absent during an English summer, so the morning dawned bright andclear. Just as they set forth from the hotel, Betty felt in her coatpocket and found that her precious red notebook, in which sheinscribed all interesting facts and discoveries, was missing. 

Philip promptly came to the rescue, saying: "I saw you put it behindyou on the seat of the motor, yesterday, and it's probably therestill. I'll go to the garage and see. "

Betty gave Philip a grateful little smile, but insisted uponaccompanying him on his search. They came upon the treasure just whereit had been left, and soon rejoined the rest of the party in thecathedral close, where John was in the midst of taking somephotographs. 

The first near view which they had of Canterbury Cathedral was inapproaching it from under old Christchurch Gateway. In spite of itsgreat age, the cathedral, in contrast with the much blackened gateway, appears surprisingly white and fair. The exterior is very beautiful;the two towers are most majestic, and beyond, one sees the gracefulBell Tower, rising from the point where the transepts cross. In oldendays, a gilded angel stood on the very top of the Bell Tower, andserved as a beacon to the many pilgrims traveling toward Becket'sshrine. 

Walking about inside the cathedral, they saw, behind the altar, theposition of the once famous shrine. All that now remain to remind onethat this ever existed are the pavement and steps, deeply worn by thefeet of many generations of devout pilgrims. 

"I told you something of the splendor of this shrine, " Mrs. Pittsuggested to them. "It was said that after his visit to it, Erasmus(the Dutch scholar and friend of Sir Thomas More, you know) indescribing it, told how 'gold was the meanest (poorest) thing to beseen. ' See, here is the tomb of Henry IV, the only king who is buriedhere, and there's the monument to the Black Prince. Above hang hisgauntlets, helmet, coat, and shield. Do you see them, John?"

The northwest transept, so say all guidebooks and vergers (and theycertainly ought to be truthful), was the scene of the murder of theArchbishop à Becket. There is even a stone in the floor which marksthe precise spot; but, contrary to her usual habit, Mrs. Pittabsolutely pointed out that all this is false. 

"I'm sorry, children, " she said, "but I must contradict this. Becketwas killed at five o'clock on a dreary December afternoon of 1170. Four years later, the cathedral was entirely destroyed by fire. Therefore, it is not possible that they can show visitors the exactspot where the tragedy took place. William of Sens came over fromFrance, and in 1184, finished the building which we now see. 

"This nave, " she continued, as they again entered it, "is one of thelongest in England, and the choir is several feet higher. Do younotice? It is an unusual feature. Also, the fact that the walls bendvery gradually inward as they near the east end of the choir, isworthy of note. Here, as at St. Paul's and a number of othercathedrals, business was carried on, even during services, andpack-horses and mules went trailing through. It's curious to think of, isn't it?"

[Illustration: "WILLIAM OF SENS, IN 1184, FINISHED THE BUILDING WHICHWE NOW SEE. "--_Page 264. _]

Canterbury's cloisters are wonderfully ancient. Blackened as they areby the centuries, and their still exquisite carvings broken, yet here, more than in the edifice itself, can one imagine the scene of Becket'sterrible death. 

"The residence of the Archbishop stood alongside the church, " Mrs. Pitt proceeded, "and here the murderers came unarmed, upon theirarrival in the town, to interview him. Becket was unmoved by theirthreats, so they left him to go and arm themselves. The entreaties ofthe monks that their master should seek safety in the cathedral wouldhave been of no avail had not the hour for evening service arrived. Can't you almost think how dark and cold these stones must have seemedon that winter afternoon, when Becket marched along with majesticdeliberateness through these very cloisters, in by that little door, and up to the altar. A feeling of dread and terror was everywhere. Most of the monks had fled to places of hiding, and the Archbishopfound himself alone with his three or four faithful friends, whom hecommanded to unbolt the heavy church doors, which, in a panic, theyhad barred. No sooner had the armed men rushed in than the challengecame from Reginald Fitzurse, as Tennyson gives us the scene:

 'Where is the Archbishop, Thomas Becket?'

and Becket's brave answer:

 'Here. No traitor to the King, but Priest of God, Primate of England. I am he ye seek. What would ye have of me?'

They responded, 'Your life!' and there immediately followed thehorrible death. "

Mrs. Pitt drew a long breath and sighed. 

"Such were the deeds of those unenlightened days. These fierce Normanknights, wishing to gain favor in the eyes of the King, and hearinghim say in a moment of anger, that he wished himself rid of thetroublesome Archbishop, they at once proceeded to Canterbury andkilled him. It was all the outcome of the continual strife andstruggle for power, between the Church and the State. "

"What did they do to those three Normans?" demanded John indignantly. 

"Nothing. I believe they went free. But Henry II himself tried toatone for the deed in doing penance by walking barefooted toCanterbury and Becket's shrine. Come, let's go outside now. "

They then wandered about the precincts of the cathedral, pausing bysome lovely, ruined arches which tell of an ancient monastery. Everywhere stretch smooth lawns, with grand old trees, and here andthere the houses of those connected with the church. Also, very closeby stands the King's School, which was founded by Archbishop Theodorein the seventh century, 'for the study of Greek, ' and later refoundedby Henry VIII. Here that famous Canterbury boy, Christopher Marlowe, was educated. The school is well worth a visit, if only to see thebeautiful outside Norman stairway. 

Mrs. Pitt next led the way down Mercery Lane, at the corner of whichstood The Chequers of Hope, the inn where Chaucer's pilgrims put up. 

"You remember the old gate by which we entered the town yesterday, "said Mrs. Pitt. "Well, under that same arch came the pilgrims as theyapproached from London. Although the city-wall then boastedtwenty-one towers and six gates, the West Gate is the only remainingbit. Here, at the inn which stood conveniently near the cathedral, thepilgrims stayed, and in Mercery Lane they bought theirsouvenirs, --probably rosaries or phials of Holy Water. At the furtherend of the Lane stood the ancient rush-market. Rushes were then ingreat demand, you recollect, for people used them to strew over theirfloors. "

One might stay on indefinitely in Canterbury, and still not discoverall its treasures and interesting nooks and corners. The streets arenarrow, crooked, and contain many very old houses. There is atCanterbury a castle; one may see the ruins of St. John's Hospital, andof St. Sepulchre's Nunnery, where Elizabeth Barton, the "Holy Maid ofKent, " once lived; the old gate of St. Augustine's Monastery stillstands, though it is now restored; by exploring, traces of thecity-wall may be found, and the weavers' houses which hang over thelittle river offer a delightful view. Interest is endless inCanterbury. But as it is impossible to see it all, especially inlimited time, the visitor usually seeks out the best known and mostfamous places; and surely, after the great cathedral itself, ranksSt. Martin's Church. 

A little way out of the town, and up against a sunny hillside, is thistiny "Mother Church of England. " Imbedded in the rough stone of thesquare, Norman tower are the huge stems of giant vines. Altogether, amore primitive, ancient appearing building cannot well be imagined. 

"Well, " remarked Betty impressively, "this is the very oldest placewe've been in yet. It makes me feel as Stonehenge did, somehow. "

"Yes, that's true, " assented Mrs. Pitt. "The two places do give yousimilar sensations. It's simply that you feel the age. I've alwaysthought that if I were suddenly blindfolded, carried away, and setdown in St. Martin's Church at Canterbury, that I should know where Iwas just from the atmosphere, which is so heavy with the weight of theyears. "

It is claimed for St. Martin's that it is the most ancient church inall England, a land filled with ancient churches. It is in thevicinity of sixteen hundred years old, for Bede states that it wasbuilt while the Romans were still in possession, and certain it isthat numerous Roman bricks may be seen to this day in the outer wall. The church was perhaps erected for the use of Queen Bertha, whosehusband, Ethelbert, King of Kent, was also converted to Christianity, and baptized here. After the arrival of St. Augustine, it is believedthat he and his followers came here to worship. Inside, the littlechurch is a curious conglomeration of different styles ofarchitecture; here a Roman doorway, there a Norman, and here anancient Saxon arch. Some of the relics in the church are the Saxonfont, built of twenty-two separate stones, a tomb which has beencalled that of Queen Bertha, and two Elizabethan brasses. The partyfound a most excellent and intelligent guide, a woman, who showed themthe vessel which held the Holy Oil (a very valuable thing), and the"leper's squint, " a slit in the wall to which the unfortunate sick menwere allowed to come and listen to the service. 

"That's something like the 'nun's squint' at St. Helen's Church in thecity, " observed Barbara. 

On the way back to their hotel, John and Philip strayed into the oldGuildhall which contains some portraits, which failed to impress theboys, however. 

"S'pose they were old Mayors or some such fellows, " said John, whenquestioned as to what he saw. "Couldn't bear 'em, with their brightvelvet clothes and high ruffs. I'm glad I didn't live then! Excuse mefrom ruffs!"

"If the important men of the town wore such gay and frivolous attire, they had to pay for it surely, " Mrs. Pitt added. "Last night I wasreading that in the records of Canterbury for the year 1556, the Mayorwas required to provide for his wife every year, before Christmas, ascarlet gown and a bonnet of velvet. That was enforced by law! Fancy!The women may have had a hand in that, for they very naturally wantedto make sure not to be outdone by the men in the point of fineclothes. "

As the automobile again passed under the West Gate, on its way back toLondon, Betty turned to Mrs. Pitt, and said in her quiet little way:

"I think you were right in what you said when we were at Salisbury. Ithink, too, that's the most beautiful of all the cathedrals I've seen. But Canterbury, both the town and church, is very, very interesting. I like the stories about Becket and the pilgrims, too. I'd like tocome again some day. Please take hold of my hand, John; I want tostand up a minute and watch that dear Bell Tower as long as I can. "

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

GOOD-BY TO LONDON

"A wire for you, Master John. "

The butler's interruption while the family was at breakfast one Augustmorning, caused a sudden hush of expectancy. 

"A telegram for me!" replied John, trying to assume sufficient dignityfor the momentous occasion, --the arrival of the first message he hadever received. "Why, what can it be?"

"Do open it, John. It must be a cable, " Betty pleaded, fearingsomething might be wrong at home. 

"Yes, hurry, dear, " put in Mrs. Pitt. 

Just the second that the contents were revealed, a great shout of joywent up, and John and Betty fairly jumped up and down in theirexcitement. 

"Father and mother coming!" John cried. "On the way now! Taking us toSwitzerland! It's great!"

Betty's radiant face showed what delight the prospect of seeing herfather and mother gave her. Glancing at Mrs. Pitt almost at once, however, she hastened to say:

"We're both sorry to go away from you all, though, and I hope they'lllet us come back. We've had such a good time in England! Don't youthink we can go on with our trip here after Switzerland?"

"I really can't tell, dear, for this is all so unexpected. I don'tknow what your father's plans may be, but I hope he will bring youback to me. I'd be very sorry if it were all at an end! But to think Ishall so soon see your father!" Mrs. Pitt sat staring into the grate, and seemed to be lost in her thoughts. 

After the general commotion caused by the news had somewhat subsided, and they had all adjusted themselves to the new plans, Mrs. Pittdecided to spend the remaining week in the city, as she had still somuch there to show John and Betty. The weather being quite cool andcomfortable, they could easily go about. 

It happened that two events of those busy days made an everlastingimpression on the minds of both John and Betty. First, there wastheir glimpse of the King and Queen; and then, there was the fire. 

As they emerged at about noon one day from the National Gallery, whereMrs. Pitt had been showing them some of the best pictures, Philipheard some one on the steps of the building say that the King andQueen had come to town to be present at the unveiling of a statue. They were soon to pass through St. James Park on their way fromWhitehall, it was understood, and our friends at once hastened in thatdirection. For some time they waited with the crowd, and it was notexactly agreeable, for the day was damp and foggy, and a fine rain hadset in. All the while, John was getting more and more aroused, andwhen he finally saw a small company of the Horse Guards, he so forgothimself as to shout:

"Hurrah! Here they come!"

Because of the rain, the Guards, wearing their blue capes lined withscarlet, were rather less picturesque than usual, but the black horseswere as fine as ever. 

"They step as if they were proud of going along with the King andQueen, " Betty said in a loud whisper to Barbara. 

Between two small squadrons of the Guards came a modest closedcarriage in which Their Majesties rode. Fortunately for the youngvisitors, they both kept bending forward and bowing very graciouslyfrom the windows, so that they could be distinctly seen. The soberBritish crowd was characteristically well-behaved. No demonstration ofany sort was given the Royalties, except that the men removed theirhats. Swiftly the carriage rolled up the wide avenue toward BuckinghamPalace. 

"Humph! They don't make much fuss about it, do they?" was all Johnsaid, while Betty was especially impressed by how very much the Kingand Queen resembled their photographs. 

The following morning an interesting trip to Smithfield was taken. Going by the "Tube, " the ride seemed a short one, and they soon foundthemselves at Smithfield Market. 

"Have you ever seen Faneuil Hall Market in Boston?" demanded Mrs. Pittlaughingly, whereupon John and Betty, the two Bostonians, were ratherashamed to admit that they had not. 

"Somehow we never have time at home, " was Betty's remark. "And I thinkperhaps we never really wanted to very much, either. "

"Well, you wouldn't understand why, then, but it always reminded me ofthis great Smithfield Market, " went on Mrs. Pitt and then added a bitboastfully, "I've been to Faneuil Hall several times. "

What they saw was a large, lofty building, with a roof of glass andiron, equipped as a most thoroughly up-to-date meat-market. A streetruns directly through the center, and from this, one can get asplendid idea of both halves. 

"This great barren square of Smithfield was the place where they hadthe tournaments in the olden days, and because of that, the name wasprobably once 'Smooth-field. ' Edward III held a brilliant tournamenthere, and also Richard II, who invited many foreign guests to bepresent for that important event. The processions which preceded, aswell as the tournaments themselves, were most elaborate. One oldwriter fairly dazzles us by his description of 'sixty horses in richtrappings, each mounted by an esquire of honor, --and sixty ladies ofrank, dressed in the richest elegance of the day following on theirpalfreys, each leading by a silver chain a knight completely armed fortilting. Minstrels and trumpets accompanied them to Smithfield amidstthe shouting population: there the Queen and her fair train receivedthem. ' Then this same author tells at much length of the commencing ofthe tournament, and says 'they tilted each other until dark. They allthen adjourned to a sumptuous banquet, and dancing consumed thenight. ' For several days and nights this same performance wasrepeated. That gives you a slight idea of the aspect Smithfield borein the days when it was far outside the limits of the 'City. '"

After pausing a few minutes in her talk, while they walked about thesquare, Mrs. Pitt proceeded:

"In 1381, after the peasant uprising, the leader, Wat Tyler, waskilled here. And then, in the reigns of 'Bloody Mary' and ofElizabeth, this was the place of public execution. Way back in 1305, the patriot William Wallace was hanged here, and after him came a longline of sufferers, --among them Anne Askew, Rogers, Bradford, andPhilpot, who were persecuted because of their adherence to theProtestant Religion. After that terrible period, Smithfield was formany years the only cattle-market in London; and here was heldBartholomew Fair, also. Don't you agree that this square has hadabout as varied a history as is very well possible?"

The church of St. Bartholomew the Great, one of the oldest and mostinteresting in London, is reached from Smithfield by an inconspicuousarch, which leads to a narrow walk close beside brick walls. At thefurther end is the façade of the church, which boasts of having beenerected in 1123, by Rahere, who also founded the neighboring Hospitalof St. Bartholomew. 

Once inside the doorway, the visitor feels as though he had actuallystepped back many centuries, for, as Baedeker says, "the existingchurch, consisting merely of the choir, the crossing, and one bay ofthe nave of the original Priory Church, is mainly pure Norman work, asleft by Rahere. " Here again, the visitor encounters that strangeatmosphere which belongs to the place pervaded by great age. 

"You see, " explained Mrs. Pitt, "the church which we see is only avery small part of the original edifice as Rahere built it. Theentrance from Smithfield was probably the door to the nave, which waswhere the grave-yard now stands. It's curious, isn't it, how thecenturies alter things! Now, step over here, out of the way of thedoor, and let me tell you a bit about this old church and its founder. This Rahere was the King's jester, who came to see the error of hisways, grew very religious, and went on a pilgrimage. While on hisjourney back, he became seriously ill, and turned to St. Bartholomewfor healing, promising to build a hospital for poor men if hispetition were granted. He was cured, and on his return to London, hebuilt the hospital and also this church, in which he is himselfburied. "

They were all delighted with this story, and went immediately to findRahere's tomb, of which the ancient effigy is covered by a fine canopyof much later date. One other tomb is that of Sir Walter Mildmay, whowas Chancellor of the Exchequer to Queen Elizabeth, and founder ofEmmanuel College, Oxford. John discovered the following quaintepitaph, which greatly amused the entire party:

 "Shee first deceased, Hee for a little Tryd, To live without her, likd it not, and dyd. "

This adorns the tomb of John and Margaret Whiting, in the northtransept. 

Some time was passed in this wonderful church, --climbing the tiny, spiral stairs up to the clerestory, and going cautiously along the bitof a walk at this dizzy height above the floor of the church. 

It needs time and much study to appreciate this sad old church, which, in spite of its broken pieces of marble, and ruined splendor andperfection of form, still bravely stands, --a lonely and pathetic relicof its grand past. A young person can scarcely understand it at all;it needs a grown man or woman whose experience enables him to read inthe crumbling pillars and walls, stories of the times when England wasyoung, the Church was the great glory and power, and there still livedmen who were "fair and fortunate. "

In the vicinity of Smithfield are a number of quaint nooks and cornersof old London. Many consider that the very best idea of the ancientcity may now be had in Cloth Fair and Bartholomew Close, both of whichare in this neighborhood. Here are still standing genuine SixteenthCentury houses amid much darkness and dirt. 

"Here in Bartholomew Close, " stated Mrs. Pitt, "Benjamin Franklinlearned his trade of printing, and Washington Irving, John Milton, andthe painter Hogarth, all lived. "

From Smithfield they hastily betook themselves, by means of hansoms, to Crosby Hall, there to have luncheon. Mrs. Pitt laughed heartilywhen John said how glad he was to be able to eat amid ancientsurroundings. He declared that he had been spending the entire morningso very far back in the Middle Ages, that it would have been too greata shock had he been taken immediately to a vulgar, modern restaurant. 

When they had finished their luncheon and were waiting on a streetcorner for the arrival of a certain bus, suddenly a thrill ofexcitement went through the crowd, all traffic was quickly drawn up atthe sides of the street where it halted, and a weird cry of"Hi-yi-yi-yi-yi" was heard in the distance. 

"It's the fire-brigade, " cried Philip, whereupon he and John weretense with anticipation. 

Down the cleared street came the galloping horses with thefire-engines, the men clinging to them wearing dark-blue uniforms withred bindings, big brass helmets, which gleamed in the sunshine, andhatchets in their belts. 

It happened that the fire was very near where our friends werestanding, so at the eager solicitations of the two boys, Mrs. Pittconsented to follow on and watch operations. 

"So it really is a fire this time, " she said to Betty, as they hurriedalong. "We have very, very few in London, and when the brigade is out, it is generally only for exercise or practice. But, it will interestyou and John to see how we fight a fire, and to observe whether themethods differ from yours. "

A building on Bishopsgate Street was really very much on fire when theparty reached the spot, and the firemen were hard at work. Althoughthe buildings are not high (or at least not according to Americanstandards), the men use very strong ladders, which can be pulled outso that they will reach to great heights. But the queerest thing ofall in John's estimation was the way in which the people on the topfloor of the building were rescued. 

A long canvas tube was carried up a ladder by a fireman, who attachedit to the frame of an upper window. The occupants of that floor werethen slid one by one to the ground through this tube, being caught atthe bottom by the firemen. 

"Well, did you ever see anything like that!" cried John, amazed at thefunny sight. "It's great, I say! I'd like to try it!"

All the way up town, the talk was of fires. John had been tremendouslyinterested in the English methods, and was planning to introduce theuse of the canvas tube to his own city through a good Irish friend ofhis at a Boston fire-station. 

"Honor bright, don't you have many fires over here?" he demanded ofMrs. Pitt. "We have 'em all the time at home. It must be stupid herewithout 'em!"

"No, we really have very few, " Mrs. Pitt responded. "In winter, thereare a number of small outbreaks, but those are very slight. You see, we burn soft coal, and if the chimney is not swept out quiteregularly, the soot which gathers there is apt to get afire. When achimney does have a blaze, the owner has to pay a fine of one pound, or five dollars, to make him remember his chimney. In olden times, perhaps two hundred and fifty years ago, there used to be a taxlevied on every chimney in a house. There's a curious old epitaph ina church-yard at Folkestone, which bears upon this subject. It readssomething like this:

 'A house she hath, 'tis made in such good fashion, That tenant n'ere shall pay for reparation, Nor will her landlord ever raise her rent, Nor turn her out-of-doors for non-payment, From chimney-money too, this house is free, Of such a house who would not tenant be. '"

They all joined in a good laugh over this, but Betty remarked that shethought it was "more of an advertisement for a house than an epitaph. "

Their particular bus had been slowly making its way down Ludgate Hill, along Fleet Street, into the Strand, through Trafalgar Square andPiccadilly Circus, into Piccadilly itself, and had now reached HydePark Corner, where our friends climbed down the stairs and swungthemselves off. 

Betty was grumbling just a little. "I never can get down those tinystairs, " she exclaimed, "without almost bumping my head and catchingmy umbrella in the stair-rail!"

Mrs. Pitt smiled. "That shows you are not a true Londoner, my dear. Weare never troubled. But, never mind; they don't have buses inSwitzerland. "

At this, Betty was instantly herself again. "London wouldn't be Londonwithout the funny, inconvenient buses, I know. And it's dear, everyinch of it, --buses and all!"

Mrs. Pitt pointed out Apsley House, where lived the great Duke ofWellington. A curious fact about this stately old mansion is that onfine afternoons, the shadow of a nearby statue of this hero is thrownfull upon the front of his former home. 

[Illustration: OLD GENTLEMEN, STOUT LADIES, YOUNG PEOPLE, AND SMALLCHILDREN, ALL RIDE IN ENGLAND. _Page 287. _]

As they were about to enter Hyde Park through the imposing gate, Mrs. Pitt said:--

"When we stand here and gaze at this scene before us, --the crowd, beautiful park, fine hotels, houses, and shops, --it is hard to realizethat this was a dangerous, remote district as recently as 1815. Thatwas the time of many daring robberies, you know, when it was not safewalking, riding, or even traveling in a big coach, because of thehighwaymen. Even so late as the year I just mentioned, this vicinityfrom Hyde Park to Kensington was patrolled, and people went about incompanies so as to be comparatively secure. "

The remainder of that lovely afternoon was spent in Hyde Park, watching the riding and driving. Having paid the fee of threepenceeach for the use of their chairs, it was pleasant to sit and look onat the gay sight. Old gentlemen, stout ladies, young people, and smallchildren, all ride, in England, and at certain times of the day, during "the season" (May and June), Hyde Park is always filled with amerry company. In midsummer it is rather more deserted, and yet thewalks stretching between the flower-beds, and the Serpentine stream, are always flocking with people on summer Sundays or "bank holidays. "

And so passed the last days which John and Betty spent in London. Allthe favorite spots--Westminster Abbey, the Tower, Kensington Palace, and many others--had to be revisited, just as though the young peoplenever thought to see them again; and then, at last came the day whenthe father and mother were expected. They all trooped to EustonStation to meet the train, and in triumph escorted the Americanfriends back to Cavendish Square. There they remained for two shortdays and then carried the almost reluctant John and Betty away withthem. Mrs. Pitt, Philip, and Barbara remained behind on the platform, waving a last good-by, and still hearing the many thanks andexpressions of gratitude which John and Betty had repeatedly pouredinto their ears, in return for their delightful visit to England. 

 THE END. 

INDEX

 Addison, Joseph, 136

 Alfred the Great, 222, 227, 229

 Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, 223, 227

 Anne of Cleves, 255, 257

 Anne, Queen, 70, 112, 114

 Arden, Forest of, 158, 169, 202

 "As You Like It, " 157

 Austen, Jane, 226

 Bankside, 90

 Bartholomew Close, 281

 Bear-baiting, 90

 Becket, St. Thomas à, 254, 264

 Bell Inn, Edmonton, 118

 "Big Ben, " 107

 Blackheath, 256

 Black Prince, Edward the, 120, 263

 Boleyn, Anne, 61, 103, 128, 136

 "Bow Bells, " 17, 118

 Bunyan, John, 89

 Bus-drivers, 16

 Buses, 11

 Cambridge, 91

 Canterbury, 261 Cathedral, 262 Chequers of Hope Inn, 267 Cloisters of Cathedral, 265 Pilgrims, 90, 252, 267 Shrine of St. Thomas à Becket, 263 St. Martin's Church, 269 Tales, 253

 Carlyle, Thomas, 124

 Caroline, Queen, 129

 Chalfont St. Giles, 105

 Charing Cross, 67

 Charlecote, 167 Park, 167

 Charles I, 100, 102

 Charles II, 114, 257

 Chatsworth House, 216

 Chaucer, Geoffrey, 28, 112, 120, 252

 Cheshire Cheese, 78

 Clopton, Sir Hugh, 148

 Cloth Fair, 281

 Clovelly, 238 Court, 248 Hobby Drive, 248

 Cockney, 16

 Coventry, 200 Ford's Hospital, 201 "Peeping Tom, " 200 St. Mary's Hall, 200

 Cromwell, Oliver, 109, 136, 186, 198

 Crosby Hall, 115

 "Deans, Jeanie, " 129

 Deptford, 254

 Devonshire, 238 Cream, 243 Legends of, 245

 Dickens, Charles, 28, 257

 Doomsday Book, 121

 Drake, Sir Francis, 249, 255

 Druids, 235

 Edward I, 67, 113 III, 99, 113, 277 the Confessor, 112

 Elizabeth, Queen, 52, 60, 69, 102, 112, 114, 129, 136, 169, 171, 197, 220, 255

 Essex, Earl of, 61, 124

 Eton School, 98

 Evans, Mary Ann (George Eliot), 124

 Fawkes, Guy, 58, 120

 Fire Brigade, 282

 Fountains Abbey, 208

 Franklin, Benjamin, 282

 Gastrell, Rev. Francis, 148

 George III, 56, 126

 Gilpin, John, 118

 Globe Theatre, 90

 Gray, Thomas, 96

 Greville, Fulke, 192

 Grey, Lady Jane, 61, 120

 Gunpowder Plot, 58

 Haddon Hall, 216

 Hampton Court, 130

 Harvard, John, 90, 146

 Hathaway, Anne, 153, 157, 162

 Henrietta Maria, Queen, 129

 Henry II, 267 IV, 59, 263 V, 104, 113, 257 VII, Chapel of, 111 VIII, 100, 124, 128, 131, 257, 259

 Hogarth, William, 282

 Holbein, Hans, 89, 133

 Holy Trinity Church, Stratford, 152

 Horse Guards, 21, 275

 Houses of Parliament, 13, 107, 123

 Howard, Queen Catharine, 133, 136

 Hyde Park Corner, 16, 285

 Irving, Washington, 161, 282

 James I of Scotland, 104

 Jerusalem Chamber, 35

 Kenilworth Castle, 196

 Kew Gardens, 125 Palace, 126

 Kingsley, Charles, 248

 Lambeth Palace, 123

 Leamington, 182

 Leicester, Earl of, 59, 135, 171, 191, 198

 "Little John, " 206

 Lollards, 124

 London Bridge, 87

 Mansfield, 203

 Marlowe, Christopher, 255, 267

 Mary, Queen, 76, 226 Queen of Scots, 112

 "Midsummer Night's Dream, " 157

 Milton, John, 105, 282

 Miracle Plays, 200

 More, Sir Thomas, 53, 62, 89, 115, 124

 National Gallery, 13, 275

 Nelson, Lord, 13, 74, 114

 Nottingham, 204, 214

 Oxford, 18, 92

 Paternoster Row, 118

 Pembroke, Countess of, 48, 115

 Penshurst Place, 42

 Pepys, Samuel, 259

 "Pickwick Papers, " 258

 Pitt, William, 26, 114

 Pope, Alexander, 136

 Prentices, 22

 "Princes, the Little, " 54

 Public Record Office, 119

 Rahere, 279

 Raleigh, Sir Walter, 63, 120

 Richard I, 211 II, 59, 113, 277 III, 115

 Richmond Palace, 129 Park, 128

 Robin Hood, 203

 Robsart, Amy, 182, 194

 Rochester, 258 Bull Inn, 258 Crown Inn, 259 Falstaff Inn, 260 Gad's Hill, 260 Restoration House, 259 White Hart Inn, 259

 Round Table, the, 228

 St. Augustine, 270 Bartholomew the Great, Church of, 279 Cross Hospital, 230 Helen's Church, 116 Mary Overy, Southwark, 88 Paul's Cathedral, 69 Swithin, 223, 226

 Salisbury Cathedral, 232

 Sarum, Old, 234

 Scott, Sir Walter, 196

 Shakespeare, William, 28, 90, 117, 140, 169

 Shelley, Percy Bysshe, 99

 Shooter's Hill, 257

 Shottery, 163

 Sidney, Sir Philip, 41, 73, 120

 Smithfield, 276 Market, 276

 Southwark, 90, 252 Cathedral, 88 Tabard Inn, 90, 252

 Spenser, Edmund, 28, 49

 Star and Garter Inn, Richmond, 127

 Stoke Poges, 96

 Stonehenge, 234

 Stoneleigh Abbey, 201

 Stone of Scone, 113

 Stratford-on-Avon, 138 the "Birthplace, " 140 Grammar School, 151 Guild Chapel, 150 Holy Trinity Church, 152 John Harvard House, 146 New Place, 147 Red Horse Hotel, 138 Shakespeare Hotel, 145 Shakespeare Memorial, 155 Weir Brake, 156

 Streets in London, names of, 119

 Swift, Dean, 136

 Tabard Inn, 90, 252

 "Tale of Two Cities, " 257

 Thames River, the, 122

 Tower of London, 50

 Trafalgar Square, 13, 21

 Tyler, Wat, 278

 Vauxhall, 124

 Vernon, Dorothy, 217

 Wallace, William, 278

 Walpole, Horace, 136

 Warwick Castle, 183 Guy of, 184, 195 Guy's Cliff, 194 Leicester's Hospital, 192 St. Mary's Church, 190 "The King-maker, " 184 Vase, 187

 Warwickshire, 167

 Weir Brake, Stratford, 156

 Wellington, Duke of, 74, 286

 Westminster Abbey, 20 Chapter House, 34 Cloisters, 30 Hall, 108 School, 32

 "Westward Ho!" 248

 White Lodge, 129

 William and Mary, 112, 114

 William III, 134 Rufus, 108, 226

 Winchester, 222 Cathedral, 224 County Court, 228 Hospital of St. Cross, 230

 Windsor Castle, 99, 128

 "Winter's Tale, " 162

 Wolsey, Cardinal, 120, 130

Makers of England Series

By EVA MARCH TAPPAN, Ph. D. 

Dr. Tappan's historical works have already become classics for theyoung, and well do they deserve it, with their entertainingdescriptions, perfect English, and historical value. Such books arethe best that can be placed in the hands of children; and the factthat while being instructive there is never a dull line is the highestcommendation that can be offered. 

 =In the Days of Alfred the Great= Cloth Fully illustrated =Price $1. 00=

 =In the Days of William the Conqueror= Cloth Illustrated by J. W. Kennedy =Price $1. 00=

 =In the Days of Queen Elizabeth= Cloth Illustrated from famous paintings =Price $1. 00=

 =In the Days of Queen Victoria= Cloth Illustrated from paintings and photographs =Price $1. 00=

 Miss Tappan reads her authorities intelligently and selects her material wisely, always having her young audience well in mind. She has a clear idea of the requirements for interesting and stimulating young readers, and arousing in them a desire for further research. The entire series are admirably adapted to this end, and are warmly recommended to the attention of parents, teachers, and librarians. --"_Era_", _Philadelphia, Pa. _

A Boy of a Thousand Years Ago

By HARRIET T. COMSTOCK. Large 12mo Profusely illustrated withfull-page drawings and chapter headings by GEORGE VARIAN $1. 00

It will at once be understood that the "boy" of the story is Alfredthe Great in his youth, but it cannot be understood how delightful astory this is until it is seen and read. The splendid pictures ofGeorge Varian make this book superior among juveniles. 

 "Not a boy lives who will not enjoy this book thoroughly. There is a good deal of first-class historical information woven into the story, but the best part of it is the splendid impression of times and manners it gives in old England a thousand years ago. "--_Louisville Courier-Journal. _

 "Mrs. Comstock writes very appreciatively of Little Alfred, who was afterward the Great, and from mighty meagre materials creates a story that hangs together well. The illustrations for this volume are especially beautiful. "--_Boston Home Journal. _

The Story of Joan of Arc FOR BOYS AND GIRLS

By KATE E. CARPENTER Illustrated by AMY BROOKS, also from paintings, and with map Large 12mo Cloth $1. 00

The favorite story of Joan of Arc is here treated in a uniquelyattractive way. "Aunt Kate" tells the story of Joan of Arc to MasterHarold, aged 11, and to Misses Bessie and Marjorie, aged 10 and 8, respectively, to their intense delight. They look up places on themap, and have a fine time while hearing the thrilling story, told insuch simple language that they can readily understand it all. Parentsand teachers will also be greatly interested in this book from aneducational point of view. 

 "The tale is well told and the children will delight in it. "--_Chicago Post. _

 "Told so simply and clearly that young readers cannot fail to be entertained and instructed. "--_Congregationalist, Boston. _

CHILDREN OF OTHER LANDS SERIES

+When I Was a Boy in Japan+

By SAKAE SHIOYA Illustrated from photographs 12mo Cloth $. 75

The author was born fifty miles from Tokio, and at the age of twelvebegan the study of English at a Methodist school. Later he studiedNatural Science in the First Imperial College at Tokio, after which hetaught English and Mathematics. He came to America in 1901, receivedthe degree of Master of Arts at the University of Chicago, and took atwo years' post-graduate course at Yale before returning to Japan. Noone could be better qualified to introduce the Japanese to those inAmerica, and he has done it in a way that will delight both childrenand parents. 

+When I Was a Girl in Italy+

By MARIETTA AMBROSI 12mo Cloth Illustrated $. 75

The author, Marietta Ambrosi, was born in Tyrol, having anAmerican-born mother of Italian descent, and a Veronese father. Herentire girlhood was spent in Brescia and other cities of NorthernItaly, and in early womanhood she came with her family to America. Herstory gives a most graphic account of the industries, social customs, dress, pleasures, and religious observances of the Italian commonpeople. 

+When I Was a Boy in China+

By YAN PHOU LEE 12mo Cloth Illustrated from photographs $. 75

New York Independent says: "Yan Phou Lee was one of the young men sentto this country to be educated here, and finally matriculated at Yale, where he graduated with honor. 'When I was a Boy in China' embodieshis recollections of his native country. It is certainly attractive, with more room for nature to operate and play in freely than isgenerally attributed to Chinese life. "

ELBRIDGE S. BROOKS'S Books for Young Americans

=The True Story of Christopher Columbus=, called the Admiral. Revisededition. New cover $1. 50

 "With its thorough historical research and its novelty of treatment, it is the Columbus book of its time. "--_The Interior_, Chicago. 

=The True Story of George Washington=, called the Father of _HisCountry_. 4to, cloth $1. 50

"Although many excellent biographies of our first President have beenprepared for the young, we think that Mr. Brooks has presented thebest, and has sustained well if not added to his reputation gained byhis previous efforts in historical fields for young readers. "--_S. S. Library Bulletin. _

=The True Story of Abraham Lincoln=, the American. Fully illustrated, 4to, cloth $1. 50

 "His life reads like a romance, the best romance that ever was printed, and Mr. Brooks has done an admirable work.... The story of Lincoln was never more ably told. "--_Evening Post_, Chicago. 

=The True Story of U. S. Grant=, the American soldier. Fullyillustrated, 4to, cloth $1. 50

 "Carefully written in that style which makes Mr. Brooks so popular a writer with his young readers. "--_The Pilgrim Teacher. _

=The True Story of Benjamin Franklin=, the American statesman. Profuselyillustrated, 4to $1. 50

The only popular life of the great Franklin written from a humanstandpoint for the boys and girls of America. 

These seven books are now in wide and acceptable use in Americanhomes, schools, and libraries. They are real stories, true stories, that interest young readers in and out of school, and imperceptiblypave the way for their becoming students of America's story andreaders of the bulkier books of American history and biography. 

 "An entertaining and instructive series. "--_Christian Endeavor World. _

=The True Story of Lafayette=, the friend of America. One vol. , illustrated, 4to $1. 50

This volume, the seventh in the series of "Children's Lives of GreatMen, " will appeal to all young Americans, and older ones as well, towhom the name of Lafayette is ever dear. It is an absorbing, simplytold, and stirring story of a remarkable character in Americanhistory, and is the "whole story" from the boyhood of the greatFrenchman to the close of his long, dramatic, and romantic career. 

ELBRIDGE S. BROOKS'S BOOKS

=The True Story of the United States of America. = Profusely illustrated, 4to, cloth $1. 50

This is in every sense a companion volume to the series of "Children'sLives of Great Men. " It tells the true story of the beginnings, rise, and development of the republic of the United States, without thedreary array of dates or the dull succession of events that so oftenmake up history for the young. Its object is to tell the story of thepeople of America, --to awaken an interest in motives as well aspersons, in principle rather than in battles, in the patriotism andmanliness that make a people rather than in the simply personalqualities that make the leader or the individual. The book is verylargely used for supplementary reading in schools, and is accepted asthe most popular "story" of the United States yet told for youngpeople. 

=The Story of Our War with Spain. = Told for young Americans. Profuselyillustrated, one vol. , 8vo $1. 50

An authentic, complete, up-to-date, and reliable account of the warfor Cuban liberation in 1898, prepared after a careful study of thebest and latest data. It is at once comprehensive, graphic, andentertaining, and well sustains the reputation earned by this author'slong list of interesting, instructive, and successful books for youngAmericans. 

=In Buff and Blue=: A STORY OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION. Illustrated byMerrill, one vol. , 8vo $1. 50

This stirring story of the Revolution details the adventures of one ofWashington's famous life-guards, who is a college mate of AlexanderHamilton, and fights with him from Trenton to Yorktown. It deals withschool and camp in the "days that tried men's souls" here in America, and introduces such famous characters as Washington, Hamilton, Lafayette, Arnold, André, and Wayne. A splendid book for boys andgirls. 

=The Story of the American Indian. = Profusely illustrated, 4to, cloth$1. 50

The first and only complete and consecutive story of the red men ofAmerica. It is sympathetic but not sentimental, practical but notone-sided, picturesque but not romantic. A book for all Americans toread. 

=The Story of the American Sailor. = Illustrated, 4to, cloth $1. 50

The only story of the American blue-jacket, whaler, fisherman, merchantman, and foremast-hand, cabin boy, captain, commodore, andadmiral. A grand book for all lovers of heroism on thesea, --especially American heroism. 

ELBRIDGE S. BROOKS'S BOOKS

=The Story of the American Soldier. = Illustrated, 4to, cloth $1. 50

A stirring and graphic record of the American fighting man, --thesoldier who has secured peace through war, --from the days ofmound-builders and red Indians to those of Grant, Sherman, Sheridan, and Miles. 

=The Story of New York. = (STORY OF THE STATES SERIES. ) Illustrated, 8vo, cloth $1. 50

This initial volume of the "Story of the States Series, " of which Mr. Brooks is editor, is a story of the beginnings and development of theEmpire State, told in a delightful and attractive manner. 

 "More like a charming fireside legend, told by a grandfather to eager children, than the dry and pompous chronicles commonly labelled history. "--_Critic_, New York. 

=Storied Holidays=: A Cycle of Red-Letter Days. Illustrated by HowardPyle, 12mo, cloth $1. 50

A unique and charming collection of historical stories about theworld's holidays, told by the author of "Historic Boys" and "HistoricGirls" Splendidly illustrated by Howard Pyle. 

 "A book for buying and keeping that the children, as they grow up, and the parents, too, may dip into and read. "--_Sunday School Times. _

=The Boy Life of Napoleon=, afterwards Emperor of the French. Translatedand adapted for American children from the French of Madame EugénieFoa. Illustrated by Vesper L. George, and by numerous photographs. Onevol. , square 8vo $1. 25

"The style of the book is simple and graceful, and it has the merit ofhistorical accuracy, also of dramatic action. For those who wish theirboys and girls to study the life of the great Emperor of France, weknow of no better book than this. "--_Literary World_, Boston. 

=In Leisler's Times=: A Story of Knickerbocker New York, told for boysand girls. Illustrated by W. T. Smedley, 12mo, cloth $1. 50

A stirring, dramatic, and vivid historical tale, based on theremarkable record of Jacob Leisler, earliest of Americanpatriots, --the first people's governor of New York. 

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=In No Man's Land=: A Wonder Story. Illustrated by Childe Hassam, 12mo, cloth $1. 00

An "Alice in Wonderland" story about an American "Alice" whose namewas Ruthie, and who went to No Man's Land in a street-car. Full of funand fancy. The children's favorite wonder story. 

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W. O. STODDARD'S BOOKS

12mo Cloth Price per volume, $1. 25

=DAN MONROE: A Story of Bunker Hill= Illustrated by W. F. Kennedy

In this volume the hero is one whose name is found in severaltrustworthy records as the drummer boy of the Lexington militia, hisclosest friend, Nat Harrington, being the fifer. The Concord fight, the Battle of Bunker Hill, and the arrival of Washington areintroduced as parts of a carefully preserved historical outline. 

=LONG BRIDGE BOYS= Illustrated by I. B. Hazelton

It tells the story of an actual attempt made by the Confederates ofVirginia, just prior to the outbreak of the Civil War, to seize thecity of Washington by force of arms, and make prisoners of PresidentLincoln and other high government officials. 

=AHEAD OF THE ARMY= Illustrated by C. Chase Emerson

This is a lively narrative of the experiences of an American boy whoarrives in Mexico as the war with the United States is beginning. 

=THE ERRAND BOY OF ANDREW JACKSON: A War Story of 1812= Illustrated byWill Crawford

This tale is of the War of 1812, and describes the events of the onlyland campaign of 1812-1814 in which the Americans were entirelysuccessful. 

=JACK MORGAN: A Boy of 1818= Illustrated by Will Crawford

It is the adventures of a boy of the frontier during the great fightthat Harrison made on land, and Perry on the lakes for the security ofthe border. 

=THE NOANK'S LOG: A Privateer of the Revolution= Illustrated by WillCrawford

The further adventures of the plucky Guert Ten Eyck, as he fought KingGeorge on land and sea. 

=THE DESPATCH BOAT OF THE WHISTLE: A Story of Santiago= Illustrated byFrank T. Merrill

A breezy story of a newspaper despatch boat, in the war with Spain. 

=GUERT TEN EYCK= Illustrated by Frank T. Merrill

A hero story of real American girls and boys, in the AmericanRevolution. 

=THE PARTNERS= Illustrated by Albert Scott Cox

A capital story of a bright, go-ahead country girl and two boys whohelped her keep store. 

=CHUCK PURDY: A New York Boy= Illustrated

A delightful story of boy life in New York City. 

=GID GRANGER: A Country Boy= Illustrated

A capital story of American life. 

George Gary Eggleston's Juveniles

 =The Bale Marked Circle X= A Blockade Running Adventure

Illustrated by C. Chase Emerson. 12mo, red cloth, illustrated cover, $1. 50. 

Another of Mr. Eggleston's stirring books for youth. In it are toldthe adventures of three boy soldiers in the Confederate Service whoare sent in a sloop on a secret voyage from Charleston to the Bahamas, conveying a strange bale of cotton which holds important documents. The boys pass through startling adventures: they run the blockade, suffer shipwreck, and finally reach their destination after thepluckiest kind of effort. 

 =Camp Venture= A Story of the Virginia Mountains

Illustrated by W. A. McCullough. 12mo, dark red cloth, illustratedcover, $1. 50. 

The _Louisville Courier Journal_ says: "George Gary Eggleston haswritten a decidedly good tale of pluck and adventure in 'CampVenture. ' It will be of interest to young and old who enjoy anexciting story, but there is also a great deal of instruction andinformation in the book. "

 =The Last of the Flatboats= A Story of the Mississippi

Illustrated by Charlotte Harding. 12mo, green cloth, illustratedcover, $1. 50. 

The _Brooklyn Eagle_ says: "Mr. George Gary Eggleston, the veteraneditor and author, has scored a double success in his new book, 'TheLast of the Flatboats, ' which has just been published. Writtenprimarily as a story for young readers, it contains many things thatare of interest to older people. Altogether, it is a mighty goodstory, and well worth reading. "

_YOUNG DEFENDER SERIES_

By ELBRIDGE S. BROOKS

=IN DEFENCE OF THE FLAG=

=A Boy's Adventures in Spain and Cuba in the War of 1898=

Illustrated by W. F. STECHER 12mo Cloth $1. 25

A story of action and adventure such as all healthy boys like, tellingof a plucky young American who defended his country's flag againstmobs in Spain and foemen in Cuba, and had many thrilling experiences. 

 "Suffice it to say that he will be a lucky boy, with many a thrill before him, who finds this book in his Christmas stocking. Don is a hero after every boy's heart. "--_Boston Herald. _

=WITH LAWTON AND ROBERTS=

=A Boy's Adventures in the Philippines and the Transvaal=

Illustrated by C. CHASE EMERSON 12mo Cloth $1. 25

The stirring adventures of a manly American boy who follows Lawton inhis last campaigns, and by a singular train of circumstances has"moving accidents by flood and field, " in two wars, with Americansoldiers, Filipino insurrectos, Malay pirates, English troopers, andBoer burghers. 

 "Mr. Brooks presents vivid pictures of both wars, so widely separated. His pages are full of the swift-moving incidents which boys love. Dull indeed must be the young reader whose interest flags. "--_Boston Journal. _

=UNDER THE ALLIED FLAGS=

=A Boy's Adventures in China During the Boxer Revolt=

Illustrated by W. F. STECHER 12mo Cloth $1. 25

The stirring story of an American boy's adventures in Tien Tsin andPekin, in the ranks of the International troops and as one of thedefenders of the beleaguered legations. Up-to-date, absorbing, andfull of healthy excitement. Characters who are in the stories "WithLawton and Roberts" and "In Defence of the Flag" reappear in thisstory. 

 "Men and women, boys and girls, of all the mingled nationalities that made this war in China so picturesque, appear in the story and give it vigor, variety, and unflagging interest. "--_Cleveland World. _

For sale by all booksellers or sent postpaid on receipt of price bythe publishers, LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO. , BOSTON

TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES:

1. Minor changes have been made to correct typesetters' errors;otherwise, every effort has been made to remain true to the author'swords and intent. 

2. Words with one or more letters enclosed in {} indicate that theoriginal word, in the book, had those characters in superscript. 

3. In the advertising pages at the end of this e-text, the use of =on either side of a phrase indicates that the title was typeset in abold face; + indicates that the title was underlined.