We did not give ourselves up to sight-seeing as we had done at Chester, because now there was plenty of time to see London at our leisure.  In the mornings I attended to my business, and in the afternoons Euphemia and I generally went out to visit some of the lions of the grand old city.

Pomona and Jonas also went out whenever a time could be conveniently arranged, which was done nearly every day, for Euphemia was anxious they should see everything.  They almost always took their child, and to this Euphemia frequently objected.

“What’s the good,” she said, “of carrying a baby not two years old to the Tower of London, the British Museum, and the Chapel of Henry VII.?  She can’t take any interest in the smothered princes, or the Assyrian remnants.  If I am at home, I can look after her as well as not.”

“But you see, ma’am,” said Pomona, “we don’t expect the baby’ll ever come over here ag’in, an’ when she gits older, I’ll tell her all about these things, an’ it’ll expan’ her intelleck a lot more when she feels she’s seed ’em all without knowin’ it.  To be sure, the monnyments of bygone days don’t always agree with her; for Jone set her down on the tomb of Chaucer the other day, an’ her little legs got as cold as the tomb itself, an’ I told him that there was too big a difference between a tomb nigh four hundred years old an’ a small baby which don’t date back two years, for them to be sot together that way; an’ he promised to be more careful after that.  He gouged a little piece out of Chaucer’s tomb, an’ as we went home we bought a copy of the old gentleman’s poems, so as we could see what reason there was for keepin’ him so long, an’ at night I read Jone two of the Canterbury Tales.  ’You wouldn’t ‘a’ thought,’ says Jone, ‘jus’ by lookin’ at that little piece of plaster, that the old fellow could ‘a’ got up such stories as them.’”

“What I want to see more’n anything else,” said Pomona to us one day, “is a real lord, or some kind of nobleman of high degree.  I’ve allers loved to read about ’em in books, and I’d rather see one close to, than all the tombs and crypts and lofty domes you could rake together; an’ I don’t want to see ’em neither in the streets, nor yet in a House of Parliament, which aint in session; for there, I don’t believe, dressin’ in common clothes as they do, that I could tell ’em from other people.  What I want is to penetrate into the home of one of ’em, and see him as he really is.  It’s only there that his noble blood’ll come out.”

“Pomona,” cried Euphemia, in accents of alarm, “don’t you try penetrating into any nobleman’s home.  You will get yourself into trouble, and the rest of us, too.”

“Oh, I’m not a-goin’ to git you into any trouble, ma’am,” said Pomona; “you needn’t be afeard of that.”  And she went about her household duties.