We left Edinburgh on the train called the “Flying Scotsman,” and it deserved its name.  I suppose that in the days of Wallace and Bruce and Rob Roy the Scots must often have skipped along in a lively way; but I am sure if any of them had ever invaded England at the rate we went into it, the British lion would soon have been living on thistles instead of roses.

The speed of this train was sometimes a mile a minute, I think; and I am sure I was never on any railroad in America where I was given a shorter time to get out for something to eat than we had at York.  Jone and I are generally pretty quick about such things, but we had barely time to get back to our carriage before that “Flying Scotsman” went off like a streak of lightning.

On the way we saw a part of York Minster, and had a splendid, view of Durham Cathedral, standing high in the unreachable—­that is, as far as I was concerned.  Peterborough Cathedral we also saw the outside of, and I felt like a boy looking in at a confectioner’s window with no money to buy anything.  It wasn’t money that I wanted; it was time, and we had very little of that left.

The next day, after we reached London, I set out to attend to a piece of business that I didn’t want Jone to know anything about.  My business was to look up my family pedigree.  It seemed to me that it would be a shame if I went away from the home of my ancestors without knowing something about those ancestors and about the links that connected me with them.  So I determined to see what I could do in the way of making up a family tree.

By good luck, Jone had some business to attend to about money and rooms on the steamer, and so forth, and so I could start out by myself without his even asking me where I was going.  Now, of course, it would be a natural thing for a person to go and seek out his ancestors in the ancient village from which they sprang, and to read their names on the tombstones in the venerable little church, but as I didn’t know where this village was, of course I couldn’t go to it.  But in London is the place where you can find out how to find out such things.

[Illustration:  “A PERSON WHO WAS A FAMILY-TREE-MAN”]

As far back as when we was in Chedcombe I had had a good deal of talk with Miss Pondar about ancestors and families.  I told her that my forefathers came from this country, which I was very sure of, judging from my feelings; but as I couldn’t tell her any particulars, I didn’t go into the matter very deep.  But I did say there was a good many points that I would like to set straight, and asked her if she knew where I could find out something about English family trees.  She said she had heard there was a big heraldry office in London, but if I didn’t want to go there, she knew of a person who was a family-tree-man.  He had an office in London, and his business was to go around and tend to trees of that kind which had been neglected, and to get them into shape and good condition.  She gave me his address, and I had kept the thing quiet in my mind until now.