The Four Corners Abroad

"Would you be afraid we'd get lost if we went alone?"

"Well, I don't know. I would carry a map, and if we did stray into unknown regions, I'd ask a bobby to set us right."

"What is a bobby?"

"A policeman. They have such nice, big, kind policemen here; they are always so ready to help one."

Jack made no comment and presently left the room.

"Where is Jack?" asked Mrs. Corner as they were about to go to dinner.

No one knew. Nan had been the one who saw her last. "She wanted me to go to Hyde Park with her," she told her mother, "but I said I was too tired."

"Do you suppose the little monkey could have gone off by herself?" asked Mary Lee.

"I am sure I don't know. I verily believe that is what she has done, the minx!" exclaimed Nan. "She asked me whether I would be afraid of getting lost in such a big city, and I very innocently told her I would trust a policeman to set me right, so no doubt she has serenely gone off to follow out my suggestion."

Mrs. Corner looked alarmed. "That child alone in this great city! Almost anything could happen to her."

"Trust Jack," said Nan. "She will come out of it all right. See if she doesn't."

And true enough they had not sat down to the table before Jack appeared jubilant. She had found her way to Hyde Park, had been greatly entertained by watching the people, and had been piloted home by a series of bobbies who proved very acceptable company. "One of them has a little girl just my age though she's 'arf an 'ead taller, he told me," Jack informed her family, "and she knows this part of London like a book."

"Jack," said her mother, "if you are going to keep on doing things of this kind I shall not have an easy moment. Some dreadful thing might have happened to you. Have you forgotten what I told you when you went off with the cocher in Paris?"

"No, I didn't forget, but that was Paris, and you never said I mustn't go here where every one speaks English. I sat quite still after I got to the park," Jack went on in an injured tone. "I didn't run about a bit, and there were bobbies with me all the way back."

"Nevertheless, I cannot allow you to rush off by yourself. You have often been told that you must never go without some older person."

"The bobbies were much older," argued Jack plaintively. "I did remember that you had said that, mother, and I didn't ask any children, only the bobbies."

"Jack, you are perfectly incorrigible," returned her mother. "Please to remember that hereafter, in whatever place we may be, that you must always come to me to ask permission before going anywhere at all. If you disobey this order I shall have to send you to a school where they will be very strict with you."

Jack sighed and looked much aggrieved. As usual her point of view seemed a very reasonable one to her, and she could not understand why she should be dealt with so hardly when her intentions had been good.

She kept very close to the party the next day, however, and lagged behind only once. Nan ran back to see her standing gazing curiously at one of the Beef-eaters, stationed at the point from which they had just made their exit. "Do come on, Jack," said Nan. "What are you loitering here for?"

"I wish you all wouldn't be in such a hurry, Nan," said Jack. "I was just going to ask the Beef-eater whether he liked beefsteak or roast beef best, and whether he eats anything but beef."

"You are such a goose, Jack," laughed Nan, and hurried her little sister along to where the others were waiting to go to the White Tower.

"Now that we have seen the place where so many sad scenes in English history took place, I think it would be an excellent plan for us all to lunch at Crosby Hall," said Miss Helen as they came away from the Tower.

"What is Crosby Hall?" asked Jo.

"It is a famous old building which, I am sorry to say, they threaten to pull down, so this will probably be our last chance of seeing it," Miss Helen answered. "It was built in 1466."

"Before America was discovered," ejaculated Jo.

"Yes, and it was considered the finest house in London at that time. It was once occupied by the Duke of Gloucester before he became Richard III, and no doubt he hatched many of his plots under its roof; it was very convenient to the Tower, you will see."

"Where is it?" Nan asked.

"On Threadneedle Street or Bishopsgate within, I am not quite sure which, but we shall soon see."

"What dear quaint names," said Nan. "I love these funny old streets."

"Tell us some more about Crosby Hall, Aunt Helen," said Mary Lee.

"It has had a variety of experiences," Miss Helen went on. "For after being a private residence it became a prison, then it was turned into a meeting-house, later into a warehouse, next into a concert hall. Now it is a restaurant and a very good one. I think you all will enjoy a meal in the hall where Shakespeare was sometimes a guest. He mentions the place in his Richard III."

"It is an awfully nice surprise to spring on us, Miss Helen," said Jo. "I think it will be great to go there."

"What are we going to have for lunch?" asked Jean. And every one laughed.

"I think for one thing we must have some chops, such as one can get only in England," her aunt told her. "There is a fine grill at Crosby Hall where they cook a chop to perfection. While they are doing the chops we can look around, and you will find yourself in a very interesting place."

"I should think it was interesting," said Nan later. "Dear me, I feel so queer to be sitting here where Shakespeare dined and where Richard III ordered his chops."

"Are you trying to make a pun?" asked Jo.

"No. Why, may I ask?"

"You surely remember the conundrum about a cold chop and a hot steak."

Nan smiled, but immediately looked grave. "We are entirely too near the Tower to make ghastly puns," she said. "Poor dear 'Lady Jane Grey,' and poor dear little princes. I wonder if that wicked old uncle planned that horror within these walls."

"One can imagine almost anything," said Mrs. Corner, "but I think we would better not try to imagine too much, for here come the chops, and they are solid facts indeed. Look at the size of them."

"What a number of nice-looking Englishmen are here taking their lunch," Nan remarked to Jo. "See their mugs of ale. Doesn't it make you think of Dickens and Thackeray and all those? I'd like mighty well to stay in London long enough to prowl around all those old Dickens places. I'd like to see the Charterhouse, and the prison where Little Dorrit was, and oh, dear me, London is too big to be seen in a hurry. Why can't we stay here instead of going to Germany so soon?"

"You forget about that summer when we have promised ourselves to come back. London will keep, Nan," her aunt reminded her.

They lingered over their meal, content with their surroundings till Miss Helen mentioned that if they started at once there would be time to see the old church of St. Helen's, adjoining, before they should go to St. Paul's.

"You're a saint, isn't she, Aunt Helen?" said Jean. "Of course we ought to go."

"We'll not go for that reason particularly," her aunt returned, "but because Shakespeare was a parishioner of the church when he lived in London, and because it is a quaint little place in the very heart of what Londoners call 'The City.' This is one of the most interesting sections of London, and scores of famous names are connected with it. If we had time we could see the church of 'St. Botolph without Bishopsgate' where John Keats was baptized, and could go to Leadenhall Street to see the old House of the East India Company, where Charles Lamb was a clerk for so many years. Alexander Pope was born not very far from here, and Samuel Pepys is buried in the church of St. Olaves. Then, too, the old Huguenot church used to be on Threadneedle Street, and many a poor emigré was given a helping hand by the little body of French Protestants who used to gather there."

"Oh, yes, that dear pastor of the French church at Canterbury told us about it," said Mary Lee.

"The new French Protestant church is at Soho Square," remarked Mrs. Corner, "though I am told the old Dutch Protestant church is still in Austin Friars, and that the congregation refuse to part with their property valuable as it is."

"I'd love to go there," said Mary Lee.

"We can't, we simply can't," cried Miss Helen. "We shall have to give up referring to interesting places or we shall become unhappy because we haven't time to give to all. That summer to come we will do nothing but wander around London, and after we have seen it all if there is any time left we will give it all to England."

"Oh, dear, but I shall not be here," sighed Jo.