I never shall get to London if I don’t hurry.  The trip was like riding through a long picture gallery, full of lovely landscapes.  The farmhouses were my delight, with thatched roofs, ivy up to the eaves, latticed windows, and stout women with rosy children at the doors.  The very cattle looked more tranquil than ours, as they stood knee-deep in clover, and the hens had a contented cluck, as if they never got nervous like Yankee biddies.  Such perfect color I never saw, the grass so green, sky so blue, grain so yellow, woods so dark, I was in a rapture all the way.  So was Flo, and we kept bouncing from one side to the other, trying to see everything while we were whisking along at the rate of sixty miles an hour.  Aunt was tired and went to sleep, but Uncle read his guidebook, and wouldn’t be astonished at anything.  This is the way we went on.  Amy, flying up—­“Oh, that must be Kenilworth, that gray place among the trees!” Flo, darting to my window—­“How sweet!  We must go there sometime, won’t we Papa?” Uncle, calmly admiring his boots—­“No, my dear, not unless you want beer, that’s a brewery.”

A pause—­then Flo cried out, “Bless me, there’s a gallows and a man going up.”  “Where, where?” shrieks Amy, staring out at two tall posts with a crossbeam and some dangling chains.  “A colliery,” remarks Uncle, with a twinkle of the eye.  “Here’s a lovely flock of lambs all lying down,” says Amy.  “See, Papa, aren’t they pretty?” added Flo sentimentally.  “Geese, young ladies,” returns Uncle, in a tone that keeps us quiet till Flo settles down to enjoy the Flirtations of Captain Cavendish, and I have the scenery all to myself.

Of course it rained when we got to London, and there was nothing to be seen but fog and umbrellas.  We rested, unpacked, and shopped a little between the showers.  Aunt Mary got me some new things, for I came off in such a hurry I wasn’t half ready.  A white hat and blue feather, a muslin dress to match, and the loveliest mantle you ever saw.  Shopping in Regent Street is perfectly splendid.  Things seem so cheap, nice ribbons only sixpence a yard.  I laid in a stock, but shall get my gloves in Paris.  Doesn’t that sound sort of elegant and rich?

Flo and I, for the fun of it, ordered a hansom cab, while Aunt and Uncle were out, and went for a drive, though we learned afterward that it wasn’t the thing for young ladies to ride in them alone.  It was so droll!  For when we were shut in by the wooden apron, the man drove so fast that Flo was frightened, and told me to stop him, but he was up outside behind somewhere, and I couldn’t get at him.  He didn’t hear me call, nor see me flap my parasol in front, and there we were, quite helpless, rattling away, and whirling around corners at a breakneck pace.  At last, in my despair, I saw a little door in the roof, and on poking it open, a red eye appeared, and a beery voice said . . .

“Now, then, mum?”