With light hearts and lighter feet the girls danced from the dark hotel to the sun-flooded street. Umbrellas had been down for half an hour and in some places the sidewalks were already partly dry. Smiles and friendly nods had once more become the fashion where before had been only grumbling discontent, with now and then a muttered, “Beastly rotten day, what?”

“Oh, what a dif-fer-ence!” cried Lucile, surveying the scene with delight. “I’d begun to be rather disgusted with London this morning, everything looked so dreary and forlorn. I wonder what can be keeping Dad and Mother,” she added, turning to the hotel entrance, while her foot tapped impatiently. “They said they’d be with us right away—oh, here they are! Speaking of angels——”

“And they’re sure to turn up,” said Phil, producing himself with startling suddenness from nowhere. “Bet you can’t guess where I’ve been.”

“Why work when you don’t have to?” philosophized Jessie. “If we don’t care where you’ve been, why bother to guess?”

“All right; I won’t let you in on the secret now, but when you do find out about it, you’ll wish you had been more civil,” Phil prophesied, darkly.

“Here is the car; come down, all of you,” commanded Mr. Payton; and, all else forgotten, they very willingly obeyed.

The machine was a big touring car, hired especially for the occasion, and the girls thrilled at the thought of seeing London in this fashion. In they tumbled joyfully, the big tonneau just accommodating five, while Mr. Payton took his place beside the driver. 120

“Where to, sir?” asked the latter.

“Oh, all around,” said Mr. Payton, with a wave of his hand. “You know the points of interest better than I do. Only, of course, the young folks must stop for a long look at Westminster Abbey on the way back.”

“All right, sir,” said the man, with an understanding grin, and added, “For the whole afternoon?”

“Yes,” said Mr. Payton.

With that the chauffeur threw in the clutch and the big machine whizzed away through the crowded traffic bearing a very happy cargo.

The girls never forgot that afternoon. Impressions crowded so thick and fast upon them they had all they could do to gather them in, and Lucile more than once exclaimed, “Oh, I must come here some day when I have lots of time and just stand and look and look and look!”

The last time she had made this remark was when they were proceeding slowly through the crowded traffic of London Bridge.

“Do you remember what Mark Twain said about people in olden times being born on the bridge, living on it all their lives, and finally dying on it, without having been in any other part of the world?” said Phil, looking about him with lively interest.

“Well, I don’t blame them much,” Jessie answered; “it is fascinating.”

“Yes; only they don’t have the heads of Dukes and things on spikes the way they used to,” Evelyn complained.

“Goodness, Evelyn, you can’t expect everything! Besides, you wouldn’t actually like to see those things,” cried Lucile, horrified.

“Well, maybe I wouldn’t like to look at them,” Evelyn retracted, embarrassed by so many laughing eyes upon her. “But if they were there, I just couldn’t help looking, could I?” she finished, lamely. 121

There was a shout, and Jessie exclaimed, “I do believe you’d enjoy being a cannibal, Evelyn. You and the black-skins certainly have a great many views in common.”

At last they had left the bridge behind and were once more speeding through the historic streets of London.

“The Abbey now, Dad?” Phil questioned, eagerly. “That’s what I came to Europe to see, you know.”

“Seems to me you’re getting mighty familiar,” commented Jessie. “Why don’t you call it by its full name?”

“Are we, Dad?” said Phil, ignoring the interruption.

“We are,” said Mr. Payton. “I’ve been wanting to see it, along with other things, all my life, Phil. You see, I wasn’t so lucky as you. However, I expect to make up for lost time.”

“Well, it’s a treat just to ride along the streets,” said Evelyn. “It’s so very different from anything I ever saw before.”

“Yes; you could imagine you were reading Dickens,” said Lucile, her eyes bright with the idea. “Why, that little shop might almost be the same one where——”

“Uncle Sol and Cap’n Cuttle hung out,” said Phil.

“Yes,” Jessie added, excitedly. “And you can almost see little Florence Dombey——”

“And her black-eyed maid, Susan,” said Evelyn, eagerly, and they all laughed delightedly at the picture.

“Gee, it does seem to make his books lots more real,” Phil chuckled. “Dear old Cap’n Cuttle and Uncle Sol’s nevvy, Wal’r—you remember him, don’t you?”

Of course they did. So on they went, most of the time in gales of merriment, as some house or modest little shop suggested some character or happening in the books of the great writer and humorist.

So happy were they in their imagining that they were almost sorry to find themselves at their destination.

“Oh, so soon?” cried Lucile, trying vainly to straighten the corners of her laughing mouth into some semblance 122 of the sobriety that befitted so great an occasion. “Oh, I never get enough of anything!” This last a protest against fate.

“Greedy child!” whispered Evelyn, lovingly, as the chauffeur opened the door. “It is a great deal better than having too much of everything,” she added, philosophically.

Phil was standing a little apart from the rest and was gazing with rapturous awe at this object of his boyhood adoration.

“Gee, Lucy, look at it!” he murmured, as his sister tucked her arm in his in mute understanding. “Think of the architect that could plan that magnificent structure!”

“It is wonderful,” Lucile agreed, softly, sobered by the beauty, the indefinite repose and dignity of the old, historic pile. “Phil, can you really imagine we are standing here in London, actually looking at Westminster Abbey? I can’t.”

“It sure does seem impossible, little sister,” Phil answered, understandingly. “But so it is. I guess Dad wants us now; he seems to be ready,” he added, as Mr. Payton beckoned to them.

“Yes,” began Evelyn, the irrepressible. “I want to see all the aesoph—sarcophaguses—gae——” she floundered hopeless and looked to the others for relief.

“Perhaps you mean sarcophagi,” Jessie suggested, loftily, while the others laughed at her discomfiture.

“Well, whatever it is, I want to see it,” she persisted, doggedly.

“Don’t worry; you shall,” Lucile promised. “If I know anything about it, you will have plenty of time to see everything, for I’m not going home till I have to.”

A moment more and they had stepped within the great, silent, shadow-filled cathedral. The lights and sunshine of the out-of-doors made the contrast more impressive and in the wonder of the moment the girls drew closer together. Gone was all their levity now, buried deep beneath an 123 overwhelming reverence for this great architectural masterpiece—exalted resting place of England’s noblest men.

The mellow, softly-tinted light from a hundred lofty windows bathed the clustering pillars, the magnificent nave and choir in a soft, roseate glow. To the girls it seemed that all the glory, all the romance, all the pomp and splendid grandeur of the ages lay embodied there.

Lucile’s hand was cold as it rested on her father’s. “Dad,” she breathed, “it almost makes you feel the wonderful scenes it has witnessed.”

“Do you wish to be shown about the Abbey?” The calm voice startled them and they turned sharply.

“Why, yes,” said Mr. Payton to the tall, thin, aesthetic-looking young man who stood regarding them blandly. “We will be glad to have you act as guide.”

This the young man did, and to such good effect that the girls and Phil were soon hanging on every word.

The magnificent choir held for them especial interest, for it was there had taken place the gorgeous coronations of the kings of England from the time of Harold.

“It seems like a fairy tale, anyway,” said Jessie, wide-eyed and pink-cheeked. “Why, to think of all the great monarchs of England—Richard the Third and Henry the Eighth and Queen Elizabeth—actually being crowned on this spot! Why, it is the next best thing to seeing the coronation itself!”

From there the party passed into the north transept, where lay, for the most part, the great statesmen and warriors of England.

But it was in the south transept, in the poets’ corner, where were erected memorials of the great English writers, that our party was most interested. Chaucer, Shakespeare, Thackeray, Dickens—magic names, names to conjure with!

Their English guide grew more eloquent and his face flushed with pride as he went into eulogies of these great men who had made England famous in the literary world. 124

They lingered longer over Dickens’ tomb, visioning the man who, by the far-reaching genius of his pen, could sway multitudes to laughter or tears at will.

“And it is to Dickens, largely, that we owe the marvelous improvement in social conditions among the lower classes,” the young man finished. “If it had not been for the boldness of his pen, we might still be going blithely along, blind to the miserable, unjust conditions that so prevailed among the poor of his time.”

And so the afternoon wore blissfully on, till Mr. Payton drew out his watch and four pairs of eager young eyes followed the action fearfully.

“It can’t be late, Dad,” from Lucile.

“After six,” said Mr. Payton, and they groaned in unison. “I’m as sorry as you young folks to tear myself away, but I’m afraid we’ve seen all we can for to-day.”

Slowly, and each step a protest against a necessity that demanded their return so soon, the girls made their reluctant way to the door of the cathedral.

Before they stepped into the waiting machine, our party turned for one more look at the Abbey.

“Oh, Dad, did you ever see anything like it?” breathed Lucile.

“There is nothing like it,” her father answered, slowly. “It is testimony in stone, a silent epitome of the glorious, stately, romance-filled history of England!”