are not at all loath to tell it—especially after the 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 the splendid moment when the fog had finally lifted and disclosed the great 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 suddenly exclaimed, “It was fun to hear that driver drop his h’s; that was real Cockney for you!”

Betty looked puzzled for a moment, and then said, “Wasn’t it supposed that only people who had been born within the sound of the bells of old Bow Church could be real Cockneys?”

“Do you remember those quaint little verses about Bow Bells?”—Page 17.

“That’s right, Betty; your history is good,” said Mrs. Pitt, who had just entered; “but John, I must tell you that dropping h’s is not necessarily Cockney. The peculiar pronunciation of vowels is what characterizes a true Cockney’s speech, but many others drop h’s—the people 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, and worked at his trade in London, it was the custom to ring Bow Bells as the signal for the end of the day’s work, at eight o’clock in the evening. One time, the boys found that the clerk was ringing the bells too late, and indignant at such a thing, they sent the following verses to him:

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

“That was bright of them,” commented John, as he rose to take off his coat.

Philip and Barbara had long since thrown off their wraps and pulled their chairs away from the fire, saying how warm they were. Even after John had dispensed with his coat, Betty sat just as near the tiny blaze 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 bigger fires?”

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

“I’ll shut the window,” said Philip. “I remember, now, how cold Americans always are over here. Mother has told us how frightfully hot you 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 tell you what I read the other day. At Oxford University, up to the time of King Henry VIII, no fires were permitted. Just before going to bed the poor boys used to go out and run a certain distance, to warm themselves. Even I shouldn’t care for that!”

“Let’s make some plans for to-morrow,” exclaimed Mrs. Pitt. “What should you like to see first, Betty?”

“I want to go somewhere on a bus!” was John’s prompt answer, at which everybody 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 can wait now. Think of all the great people who have been associated with it,” 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 strange to say, I very seldom, if ever, get time to go there, except when I’m showing it to strangers. Why! It’s twenty-five minutes past nine this very minute, children; you must go to bed at once!”

CHAPTER THREE

WESTMINSTER ABBEY

The first thing that Betty heard the following morning was a gentle knock 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 was soon dressed, and Barbara came to show her the way to the breakfast-room.

“You can’t think how good it does seem not to be thrown about while dressing, as we were on the steamer! Do you know that I can’t help stepping up high over the door-sills even yet!” laughed Betty, as they went downstairs together. “Mrs. Moore, the friend of mother’s in whose care we came, you know, told me that I should probably feel the motion for some time after landing.”

“I only wish I could be a guard and ride a horse like one of those!”—Page 21.

To the surprise of John and Betty, there was a very hearty breakfast awaiting them. They had expected the meager tea, toast, and jam, which some Americans consider to be customary in English homes, because it is encountered in the hotels.

Early in the morning, the buses were even more crowded than the night before, and they had some difficulty in finding seats. John placed himself beside a soldier dressed in a scarlet coat and funny little round cap held on sidewise by a strap across his chin, with every intention of starting up a conversation with him; but one glance at his superior air discouraged the boy from any such attempt. When they arrived at Trafalgar Square again, they jumped off, and walked down towards the towers of the Houses of Parliament. In front of the Horse Guards they stood in admiration of the two mounted sentries, stationed there.

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

“Would you rather be a Horse Guard, or a bus-driver, John?” asked Betty teasingly.

“Sometimes you see dozens of the Guards together; that’s a