John and Betty's History Visit Part 6

From there, they walked up Fleet Street, discussing their unusual lunch as they went. They had all enjoyed it,--even Betty.

She made them all laugh, however, by announcing seriously, "I'm glad I went, but I think it is just about as nice to read about lunching there, as to really do it. And then, you wouldn't be quite so hungry afterwards!"

CHAPTER SEVEN

A SUNDAY NIGHT CHAT

It was Sunday afternoon, and the time for John and Betty to send their weekly letters home. The day was a beautiful one in early spring, the gra.s.s and trees in the garden behind the house were very green, birds were singing outside, people were continually walking by, and the letters progressed but slowly. Every few moments Betty stole a glance out-of-doors, and John sat leaning his elbow on the desk chewing the end of his penholder, while he gazed steadily out of the window.

"Well, what do you think of it all, John?" asked Betty thoughtfully.

"Aren't we glad we came, and aren't Mrs. Pitt and Barbara and Philip good to us?"

"Just splendid!" exclaimed John most emphatically. He had turned away from the window now, and was entering earnestly into the conversation.

"I just tell you what, Betty, it's a different thing to peg away at an old, torn history-book at school, and to come over here and see things and places, while Mrs. Pitt tells you about them! Why, I honestly like English history the way we're learning it now!"

Betty smiled in an elder-sisterly fas.h.i.+on. "Well, I always did like to study history, but it surely makes it nicer and easier to do it this way. But besides that, John, don't you think it's queer and very interesting to see the way the English do things--all their customs, I mean. They're so different from ours! Why, when I first saw Barbara that day at the train, I thought it was the funniest thing that her hair was all hanging loose down her back. I wouldn't think of being so babyis.h.!.+ I thought perhaps she'd lost off her ribbon maybe, but she's worn it that way ever since. And her little sailor-hat looks so countrified as she has it,--'way down over her ears!"

[Ill.u.s.tration: "I'D FEEL LIKE 'LITTLE LORD FAUNTLEROY' GOING AROUND WITH THOSE CLOTHES ON!"--_Page 84._]

"I know it; it seemed mighty funny to me to see Philip's black suit with the long trousers, his broad collar, and skimpy short coat! It's what all the boys at the Eton School wear, he says. They must feel like fools! Why, I'd feel like--like--'Little Lord Fauntleroy' going around with those clothes on all the time!" John's voice was full of scorn, yet his eyes twinkled with fun. "But, the high hat, just like father's opera-hat, which Philip wears, beats it all!" he continued.

"I'm so used to it now, though, that I don't think of it any more.

It's queer how soon you get used to things! It's just like riding along the streets, and keeping to the left instead of to the right.

The first time I rode in a hansom (you weren't there that day, Betty) and we suddenly turned a corner, keeping close to the left curb, I poked open the little door in the roof and shouted, 'Hey there!

Mister! You'll b.u.mp into something if you don't look out!' The driver just stared; he didn't seem to know what I was talking about."

"Yes," went on Betty in her turn, "keeping to the left did seem queer at first. You know, John, how often we have wished that Dan and the automobile were over here. Honestly, I think Dan would surely have an accident! He never could remember to keep to the left! Now, we simply must go on with our letters! Begin when I say three! One--two--(hurry, John, you haven't dipped your pen!), three!" and both commenced to write industriously.

The letters were finally finished just as the tea-bell rang. Betty ran to wash her hands, and then they went down to the library, where tea was served every afternoon that they were at home.

"Why! I quite like tea over here!" Betty remarked. "I never drink it at home! Mother would be so surprised if she saw me! Do all English people drink it every afternoon as you do, Mrs. Pitt?"

"Yes, it seems to go with the English people, somehow. We'd quite as soon think of doing without our breakfast or dinner as our four-o'clock-tea. You've noticed, my dear, how I always manage to get my tea at some little shop when we are on one of our sight-seeing tours. Really, I am quite lost without it! Oh! it's just a habit, of course." As she spoke, Mrs. Pitt poured herself another cup.

When the tea things had been removed, and a fire was lighted, stories were called for.

"Tell us some of the stories you know about different places and old customs, Mother," urged Barbara.

"Very well," said Mrs. Pitt willingly. "Let--me--see! You remember, don't you, having the guide point out London Bridge to you, from the top of St. Paul's, day before yesterday? That's the oldest bridge, you know, for it seems to have existed as long ago as we know anything of London itself. But legend has it that before there was any bridge over the Thames, people crossed in a ferry which was run by a certain John Overs. This man naturally became rich, as very many people were always paying him for taking them across the river, but he was a great miser.

The ferryman had one fair daughter about whom he was as miserly as he was with his money,--keeping her shut up out of reach of her lover.

One day, John Overs thought he would like to save the cost of providing food for his household, so he pretended to be dead. He expected that his servants would fast in consequence, as was the ancient custom; but so great was their joy when they thought their master dead, that they all began to dance, to make merry together, and to feast upon all they found in the house. The old miser stood this just as long as he could, and then he sprang up to lay hands upon them. The servants fled, believing that it was something supernatural--all except one, who, more daring than the rest, killed his master with his weapon. So old John did die after all, but in an unexpected way.

"Part the second of my story tells of how the monks of a neighboring abbey finally consented to bury the body; when the abbot returned, however, he was very angry at what they had done, and gave the friars some orders. They dug up the body of the poor old boatman, tied it to the back of an a.s.s, and turned the animal loose. The body was finally thrown off at the place of public execution (directly under the gallows), and there it was buried and remained. Meanwhile the daughter, Mary, was having more trouble. Immediately upon the death of her father, she had sent for her lover, but in coming to her, he had been thrown off his horse and killed. This was too much for the unfortunate girl, who decided to retire to a nunnery, leaving her entire fortune to found the church of 'St. Mary Overy.' That is the real name of the church now known as Southwark Cathedral, which stands just across London Bridge. Now, how do you like that story?"

[Ill.u.s.tration: "YOU REMEMBER, DON'T YOU, HAVING THE GUIDE POINT OUT LONDON BRIDGE?"--_Page 86._]

"Great!" exclaimed John. "Whoever thought that up had a vivid imagination, all right!"

"Why, don't you believe it, John?" said Betty, who always took everything most seriously.

When they were quiet again, Mrs. Pitt talked on.

"London Bridge, up to the time of the Great Fire, was crowded with houses, you know, and there was even a chapel there. Over the gate at the Southwark end of the bridge, the heads of traitors were exhibited on the ends of long poles. Here Margaret Roper, whom you met at the Tower, came, bargained for, and at last secured the head of her father, Sir Thomas More. But, to go back to the houses! Hans Holbein, the painter, and John Bunyan, the poet, are both said to have resided on London Bridge. I also like the story which tells of a famous wine merchant, named Master Abel, who had his shop there. Before his door, he set up a sign on which was the picture of a bell, and under it were written the words, 'Thank G.o.d I am Abel.' Here's a picture of old London Bridge. Imagine how quaint it must have looked crowded by these picturesque old houses, and with its streets filled with travelers.

All those entering London from the south came across that bridge, which was consequently a great thoroughfare. Near the Southwark side of the bridge is where the Tabard Inn stood--the inn from which the Canterbury Pilgrims set out; and near the bank, known as Bankside in those days, was the celebrated Globe Theatre, connected with Shakespeare and his a.s.sociates. The popular Paris Gardens were there, too, where the sport of bear-baiting was seen in Queen Elizabeth's time. If we went over there, we could see the former sites of these historic places, but they are now covered by unattractive, modern buildings or great breweries. It's hard to conjure up the Globe Theatre out of present-day Southwark," she added with a sigh, as if she were speaking to herself. "Not far from the site of the Tabard Inn, a picturesque, gabled house once stood, in which John Harvard was born. Yes, John, that was the man who founded Harvard College, at your American Cambridge."

"Yes, and I mean to go there myself some day!" announced John, immediately fired by the familiar name of our oldest university. "My father went, you know."

Mrs. Pitt and the two girls spent the remainder of the evening in talking over plans for the next day, but John's thoughts had been turned to college, and so he and Philip had a lively time comparing notes about English and American colleges.

"Where do you mean to go, Philip?" John inquired.

"Oh, to Cambridge, of course! My father, his father, and all my family for generations back have been to Trinity College, Cambridge. That's the largest college in England, and was founded by Henry VIII. Oh, it's jolly there! There are old quadrangles around which the men live; there's a beautiful old chapel, built in the Tudor period; and there's the dining-hall. That's grand! Back of the college is the river, the Cam. There's a lovely garden there, and over the river on which the men go boating, is an old bridge. I had a cousin who lived in the rooms which Byron once occupied. He, Macaulay, Tennyson, Thackeray, Dryden, and many other famous men went there. Oh, it's the only college for me! I shall be there in three years, I hope!"

"Well, Harvard's our oldest college. It was founded by your John Harvard almost as soon as Boston itself, and 'Teddy' Roosevelt went there! It's good enough for me! The only trouble is that they can't seem to beat at football, somehow, and I mean to play and see if I can't help 'em win. That's the only trouble with old Harvard, though,"

John said, feeling that he must be loyal to his college in this international discussion; "otherwise she's all right! There's the Stadium, where all the big games are played, and there's the Charles River for us to row on. There are loads of fine new buildings, too, and I'd like those better than the old ones. We don't care who lived in 'em! Oh, the fellows at Harvard have a splendid time!"

Mrs. Pitt had overheard some of this conversation with much amus.e.m.e.nt, for the ideas and ideals of the two boys were so different, and so very characteristic of each.

"I think you'd enjoy a visit to Cambridge, John," she said. "We must try to manage it. You'd find one of our colleges very unlike yours in America. Both Oxford and Cambridge Universities are made up of many colleges, you know; at Oxford, there are twenty-two, and at Cambridge, eighteen. Each college has its own buildings, its own professors, its own chapel and dining-hall, and each college is complete in itself, although they all belong to one university. You would think the rules very strict! When the Cambridge men go to chapel, and at other specified times, they are required to wear their gowns and queer little flat caps, called 'trenchers' or 'mortar-boards.' At Oxford, the gates of each college are closed at nine o'clock every evening; a man may stay out later (even until twelve), if he can give a good reason for it. If he remains out all night, though, he is immediately dismissed. How would you like that?" she laughed, seeing John's disgusted expression. "There are men called 'scouts,' who look after the men's rooms, and bring them their breakfast. The students are very carefully watched, and if one of them stays away from his meals at the dining-hall more than two or three times a week, the affair is investigated."

"My! When we go to college in America, we are men, and can look after ourselves!" John drew himself up very straight, and spoke with great dignity. "Cambridge may be older and have more--more--'a.s.sociations,'

but I'd rather go to Harvard."

CHAPTER EIGHT

WINDSOR CASTLE, STOKE POGES, AND ETON SCHOOL

"It's only a little more than twenty miles out to Windsor," remarked Mrs. Pitt, one June morning. "Suppose we go in the motor, and then we can have a glimpse of both Stoke Poges and Eton School, on the way."

There were always many exclamations of delight at mention of the "motor," so it was settled, and the party set out at ten o'clock, all in the highest of spirits. It was slow and difficult driving through the city streets, but the English chauffeur was quite used to keeping to the left, as well as being perfectly familiar with the rules which govern the traffic, so he had none of the accidents which Betty and John had prophesied that their father's American chauffeur would not be able to avoid. Very soon, however, they had reached the suburbs, and then they came into the open country.

They could go faster now, and the big touring-car sped over the wonderfully smooth roads at a speed which delighted the young people.

The weather was proving a bit uncertain. Every little while, a tiny shower descended upon them out of a blue sky full of great white clouds, the sun s.h.i.+ning warm and bright all the while.

"Oh, don't let's put up any umbrella," exclaimed Betty, during one of the showers. "Rain never seems to do any harm in England. You don't get wet, and never mind it a bit. Truly, I like it, for it's so pretty to see it raining with the sun out. There! now, it's stopped again!

Just see that lovely rainbow!"

The English country is always beautiful in its individual way, but it is especially so on one of these showery days, when every leaf and flower looks fresher than ever with the rain-drops glistening on it.

Now and then, they slowed down while pa.s.sing through a busy town, where pretty ladies and children in little two-wheeled carts drove about doing the morning marketing. Most of the way, however, lay through country roads bordered by green-hedged fields in which the ever-present sheep grazed; and here and there were high brick walls over which the stately, vine-covered homes were just visible. There were also picturesque little workmen's cottages at the edge of the wood, and lodges covered with climbing-roses.

It seemed as though they had only been riding a very short time when, upon emerging from a shady road, they drew up at a little gateway.