CHAPTER VIII
IN LONDON TOWN
The bells were ringing out the noon hour when the Corners arrived in London, yet it seemed a quiet and dignified place after Paris. Miss Helen had chosen a neat little hotel for their stopping-place to which they drove directly. The party had amused themselves during the journey from Canterbury by choosing what they most wanted to see. Mrs. Corner selected Westminster Abbey, Nan the National Gallery, Jo the British Museum, Mary Lee the Zoo, Jack the Tower, and Jean Kensington Gardens.
"Gracious! but there is a lot to see," Jo remarked as she turned over the leaves of a copy of Baedeker's London. "It would take weeks to do it all, and I suppose the longer you stay the more you find to see; that's the way it generally is."
"It is particularly so with London," Miss Helen acknowledged. "We shall have time only to skim off the cream this trip, but we can see the most important things."
It was Jo, perhaps, who was most impressed by Westminster Abbey. Many of the things and places in Europe were but words to her for she had "scrambled up" as she said, and the time she had passed at Miss Barnes' school had been her only opportunity for real culture, but she was so bright and wide-awake, so eager to absorb information that Miss Helen congratulated herself that she had asked the Western girl to join the party.
"I can't realize it," whispered Jo, after standing a few moments in mute awe before the monuments in the Poet's Corner. "Of course I knew there was a Westminster Abbey, but I hadn't an idea what it was like. Now, I shall never forget. It seems a stupendous thought that all this great number of celebrities should be buried here, and that you have them all in a bunch before you, so to speak. I feel now as if they had really lived and not as if they were names at the end of poems."
The visit to the Abbey took up most of the morning, but as Mrs. Corner was tired, and the twins soon wearied of looking at pictures, it was decided that Miss Helen should take the three elder girls only to the National Gallery while the others returned to the hotel.
Nan would fain have gone at once to the pictures and could scarcely be dragged away to the nearest restaurant for a hasty lunch. Bath buns and crumpets were ordered, the girls saying that these things were so often mentioned in stories of English life, but when Jo asked for lemonade she was told there was none, but she could have a "lemon squash" which proved to be the same thing. "I shall soon catch on to the Englishisms," said Jo, "and you will hear me asking for a grilled bone and skittles and winkles with a lot of other queer things before I leave here."
"I like the National Gallery much better than the Louvre," decided Nan, as, foot-weary, Miss Helen declared they must not try to see more that day.
"We can come back," she said, "for it is a remarkably choice collection. There are so many of the best examples of the best artists that one gets an idea of nearly every school of painting through many of the world's famous pictures here."
"I am going to begin a collection of photographs and things like that for a sort of History of Art," Nan decided. "It will be a lovely way to study, and there are so many good reproductions one can get."
"That is an excellent idea," agreed Miss Helen, "and I am sure Miss Barnes would greatly approve of your spending some of your prize money in that way."
"What shall you buy with the rest of it, Nan?" asked Jo.
"I haven't quite decided, but I think I shall spend it all in books and pictures. Don't you think, Aunt Helen, it would be nice to buy books at the places associated with the authors? For example I could get a set of Shakespeare at Stratford-on-Avon, Wordsworth in Grasmere, Gray at Stoke Poges, and so on. You see then they would serve a double purpose."
"I think it would be an admirable plan," said Miss Helen, "and just the kind of thing you will enjoy, Nan. Don't spend more than half your money in England, however, for you will see things in Germany and Italy that you will want, not to mention Paris."
"I think I will make my fullest collection of Rossetti, for you know he was the subject of my theme that won the prize."
"That would be quite right and proper, and you will find some charming pictures here."
"Don't you think we shall have time for the Portrait Gallery to-day?" asked Nan wistfully.
"Surely not to-day, dear. There is nothing more wearying than picture galleries, delightful as they are. You will have mental indigestion if you try anything more. Perhaps you and I can slip off sometimes and come here while the others are doing things we don't care so much about."
"I'd like to see the Zoo well enough, but I would much rather see pictures."
"Then we might let the rest go to the Zoo while you and I do pictures all day. There are the Wallace collection and the Tate Gallery still to see."
"Oh, Aunt Helen, do you think we shall be able to see both as well as the Portrait Gallery?"
"We can go to at least one of them, I think. They are some distance apart so we cannot attempt them both in one day. To-morrow we have decided to go to the Tower, and as we shall then not be so very far from St. Paul's we must see that. Perhaps day after to-morrow will give us a chance for one or another of the galleries."
Nan gave her aunt's arm a squeeze; the two were walking ahead of Mary Lee and Jo. Aunt Helen was always so ready to respond to Nan's desires, for they were great chums.
They waited for a 'bus which would take them to their hotel, all clambering on top that they might better see the life of the London streets. Jo managed to get next to the driver and extracted a deal of information at the expense of a threepenny tip. In consequence the way was made so intensely interesting that they were carried beyond their destination, and walked back chattering like magpies.
They found Jean complacent at having tasted clotted cream, and Jack in the dumps because she could not go out into the nearest square. "It is the stupidest old place I ever saw," she complained. "They lock their gates and won't let you in unless you have a key. At home and in Paris all the squares are free. Stingy old English! They keep their gardens all walled up, too, so you can't get so much as a peep at them. They are just the meanest people I ever saw."
"There are plenty of places that are free," Nan tried to console her by saying.
"Where?" asked Jack.
"Oh, Hampstead Heath, Kensington Gardens and Hyde Park," said Nan.
Jack whispered the names to herself as she stood looking out of the window. "Nan," she said presently, "won't you go with me to Hyde Park or somewhere? It is horrid to stay in the house."
"Dear chickabiddy, I am so tired. I didn't realize how tired I was till I reached home. I have been on my feet the entire day. Perhaps some other time we can go."
"Is it very far?" asked Jack.
"Not so very, but it is far for a tired body like me to go there to-day."
Jack was silent a few moments. "London is an awfully big place, isn't it?" she said presently.
"The biggest city in the world."
"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.
"Who can tell?" said Miss Helen cheerfully. "One never knows what will happen."
"That is true," returned Jo brightening.
"If any one had told us that day we met Daniella Boggs on the mountain that she would one day go to boarding-school with us, and that she would be ten times better off than we were then, I am sure we would have laughed them to scorn," said Mary Lee. "So, Miss Jo, don't you say you will not be here, for maybe you will."
"It is nice to think there can even come a maybe," said Jo, "and indeed we could go further, and continue the Daniella story by saying that if any one had foreseen that one Jo Keyes would be over here because of a prize given by Daniella's uncle you all would have laughed more scornfully than before."
After St. Helen's came St. Paul's, the Whispering Gallery, the crypt and the many parts that all visitors must see. Then there was another ride home on the top of an omnibus, this time Jack being the one who secured a seat by the driver, and if he did not earn his threepence in answering questions, it was not Jack's fault.
The following day all but Miss Helen and Nan set out for the Zoo. The latter had a quiet day browsing around the galleries, and enjoying one of the times the two delighted in. There was always a peculiar bond of intimacy between them. No one understood Nan as well as her Aunt Helen and there was no one to whom she more readily showed her inner self. Since Miss Helen was Nan's godmother as well as her aunt, Nan had a feeling of proprietorship which she claimed whenever occasions like this offered. She had a fine time spending some of her prize money on photographs, having Miss Helen's undivided attention when they came to select.
"You see," said Nan, "when all the others are along, there is no use in trying to do anything like this, and I do want to think calmly, for to me it is a very important question, whatever it may be to the others. I must have those two Browning portraits, Aunt Helen, for they were Londoners before they became Florentines."
"I should certainly get those," Miss Helen approved the choice.
"And Dickens and Thackeray."
"Without doubt."
"And would you get Wordsworth and Rossetti here or trust to finding copies at Grasmere?"
"I think I would take them while you are sure of getting just what you want."
"Who else? Keats, of course, and, oh, dear, it is going to be harder than I thought."
"Wouldn't it be a better plan to select what you're sure you want to-day and come again after you have made a list?"
"Oh, but can we find time to come again?"
"We'll make time, even if we have to stay a day longer to do it."
"Bless you, my bestest aunt." They pored over the photographs for a half hour longer and then Nan declared she was satisfied for that day, and they went off, Nan carrying her precious package and feeling very rich in her new possessions.
The British Museum occupied the greater part of the following day, which was ended up in Kensington Gardens, and then came a trip to Windsor Castle which included a further journey to Stoke Poges where, if Jack did not see her moping owl, Nan found a charming little photograph of the old churchyard, and on the way home bought a pretty copy of the Elegy in which to put it. There was a second visit to the National Portrait Gallery, taken one day when the rest were out shopping, and this time Nan completed her purchase of all photographs she intended to buy in London, and spent so much time poring over her collection that she was in danger of not getting her trunk packed in time the next day when they made their start for Oxford.
"I feel very much as if I had been faring on guide-books," said Nan, as they settled themselves in the train. "And as for Aunt Helen, I know she feels like one. If she had a red cover I would take her for a Baedeker."
"I am sure Jean knows every item on the list at the pastry cook's, and Mary Lee dreamed last night that she was a monkey and began climbing over me," said Jo.
"Now, Jo," began Mary Lee.
"Well, didn't you?"
"I had a sort of funny dream about monkeys," Mary Lee admitted.
"As for Jack," Jo went on, "I defy any 'bus driver in London to keep up with her questions."
"I know where you come," cried Nan. "You would have turned into a mummy if you had gone to the British Museum once more."
"She is anything but one now," said Miss Helen, looking at Jo's plump figure and saucy nose.
"As for me," put in Mrs. Corner, "I feel as if I had met many old friends from whom I am now parting with regret."
The train started and soon the smoke of London was but a gray cloud in the distance.
CHAPTER IX
WORK
"Get up, lazybones, get up. Don't you know you are to see the whole of Oxford to-day and go to Stratford to-morrow?" cried Nan, shaking Jo from her slumbers.
"Hm, hm," answered Jo sleepily turning over.
Nan gave her another shake. "Don't you know that the toast is getting colder, the black tea is getting blacker, the eggs getting harder and the slabs of bacon getting slabbier and flabbier? I am going to breakfast."
"Dear me, Nan, is it as late as that?" said Jo sitting up suddenly.
"Yes, and there is honey instead of the marmalade you don't like," replied Nan over her shoulder. "Mother got some yesterday."
Jo, thoroughly aroused, sprang from her bed to rush through her toilet and join the others down-stairs.
"We thought maybe you didn't care to see Oxford," said Miss Helen smiling as Jo came in hurriedly.
"Well, no," drawled Jo. "I've seen Harvard, you know, and what are colleges anyhow? I never expect to take a degree and why should I be interested in Oxford? Of course I will go with you all if you insist, but if it were Earl's Court, for example, where there is a maze, a water toboggan and such things, I might be more enthusiastic." It was like Jo to turn off things in this way, and every one laughed.
"You know," said Miss Helen, "that Hawthorne called High Street the noblest old street in England, so that is one of the things we must be sure to see."
"And Addison's walk," put in Nan.
"To be sure, and you girls will find the Bodleian Library very fascinating. As for the colleges themselves, with their chapels and quadrangles, if you do not think them beautiful as well as interesting I am much mistaken."
"Again we sigh for that entire summer which cannot be ours," said Nan.
"Yet——" Miss Helen began.
"Oh, I know what you are going to say," interrupted Nan, "and we know all about that possible future. When do we start out?"
"As soon as I can gather the brood together. Don't dawdle, any of you, if you love me."
Her appeal was not without effect, for the whole party appeared in a very short time, and they set forth to go from college to college, to walk up High Street, to turn into Addison's walk and to return at night tired out.
"We fairly skipped through," remarked Mary Lee. "I have a confused jumble of colleges in my brain, and can't for the life of me tell Brasenose from Oriel or Lincoln from Queen's."
"Study your post-cards, my dear," said Nan, "and they will tell you."
"Not everything."
"What they don't tell Baedeker does, so I wouldn't bother my dear little brain with trying to remember so exactly. As for myself, Oxford represents a mass of beautiful ivy-clad buildings, more or less resembling each other, lovely gardens, chapels and cloisters, a cathedral, a library and one long fine street. That is all the impression my mind has received. After a while I shall try to separate the conglomeration by looking over my post-cards, but just now I am capable of seeing it only as a whole, an impressionistic picture, as it were."
"Shall we have another day of it, Miss Helen?" asked Jo.
"I think another morning, so we can take the train for Warwick in the afternoon. It is not so very far and we need not start very early."
"Then, ho for Stratford-on-Avon, where we shall become Shakespeare mad, and for Warwick where Jack can see her white peacocks," cried Jo.
Yet the glories of Warwick Castle were less attractive to the twins than the little tea-garden on Mill Street, which, indeed, pleased them all.
"I never saw such a dear little place," said Jack with satisfaction.
"That cunning cottage with vines all over it," said Jean.
"And that lovely tangled garden down to the very water's edge," Nan put in.
"And the ducks, look at the ducks!" cried Mary Lee.
"Is this little stream really the Avon?" asked Jo. "What a fine view of the castle from here."
"It is the loveliest place to rest in," said Mrs. Corner sinking into a seat by one of the little tables.
"Are we going to have plum-cake?" whispered Jean.
"Pig!" exclaimed Jack scornfully.
"How did you happen upon such a charming spot, Helen?" asked Mrs. Corner.
"I have been here before, and it was one of my pleasantest memories of Warwick. Mother and I came more than once when we were here."
Nan's thoughts flew back to her stately grandmother, whom she had known but such a short time, and she fancied her sitting at one of the tables sipping her tea and looking up at the great castle walls. The girl turned to her Aunt Helen. "I am glad you told us that," she said in a low voice and Miss Helen gave her an appreciative smile, for she understood what was in her niece's thoughts.
"There comes a boat full of young folks," cried Jo. "Isn't that interesting? It is just like an illustrated story, isn't it? They are going to stop here for tea. Aren't the men fine looking, and the girls are exactly like those you hear about. I can't say that they have the style of the Americans, but they have lovely complexions."
"Come, let's feed the ducks," suggested Jack when the others were still sipping their tea. "It will be such fun, Jean, and I am sure they are expecting it."
Jean was not quite sure that she was willing to sacrifice any of her plum-cake to the ducks but concluded she would give them some bread. "No doubt they will like it just as well," she told Jack.
They lingered so long in the charming little garden that the melodious cathedral chimes were ringing for six o'clock when they reached the hotel, enthusiastic in their praises of the castle and of the little tea garden on Mill Street.
Stratford-on-Avon, with a walk across the pleasant country to Anne Hathaway's cottage took them an hour when it had to be decided whether the Lakes or Devonshire should be included in the next move. Finally, Miss Helen proposed that she and the three eldest girls should take a flying trip to the Lakes, leaving Mrs. Corner and the twins at Warwick, a place where they were delighted to stay, with a promise of the tea-garden every afternoon and a sight of the peacocks on the wall of Warwick Castle between whiles. Mary Lee declared she much preferred Grasmere to Cambridge, and so Nan had her wish, for she beheld Dove Cottage, Helm Crag and all the rest of the places made familiar to her by her last year's study of Wordsworth. The limits of the trip were reached at the Lakes, and then they turned their faces southward to catch a glimpse of the Sussex downs on their way to Newhaven.
Once more in Paris to gather up trunks and to make ready for a long stay in Munich with a glimpse of Switzerland on the way. There had been a meeting with Miss Barnes and her party of schoolgirls and great doings for two or three days before the Corners should separate from the others. Jo, to her great joy, had received permission to stay behind. Daniella had bidden them all a reluctant farewell. The summer had been a sort of fairy-tale to the little mountain girl, and if she had not received altogether correct impressions, and had often been bewildered, yet she had made great progress and could scarcely be recognized as the same girl who had so fearfully entered Miss Barnes's school the year before. Now she did not dread going back, for the same company with whom she had been traveling all summer would be hers for another year. Yet she bade a wistful farewell to her first friends, the Corners, whispering, "I wish you were coming, too," as she took her place in the train which should bear them all to Cherbourg.
So while these traveled west, the Corner party journeyed east, and at last they reached the clean, pretty city where they would settle down for days of study. The two younger girls were to be day-boarders in a small school, while the three elder ones were to give most of their time to particular studies. All would have lessons in German while Nan wanted to make a special point of music.
"You're going to stay with us, mother, aren't you?" said Jean wistfully. "You're not going to leave us here all alone like we were last year?"
Mrs. Corner smiled at the aggrieved tone. "I shall stay here till after Christmas anyhow," she promised, "and then if I must go away for the coldest months we shall all be together in Italy by the first of April."
Jean sighed. After so much freedom it was hard to adjust one's self to school routine, and as yet she had not settled down to the new conditions. "Shall we have to wear funny hats and do our hair in braids up over the tops of our heads or around our ears like the German girls do?" asked the little girl whose looks were something of a matter of pride to her.
"I think you will do as you have always done in that direction," her mother told her. "You are not a German girl, you know."
"But Fräulein is very particular," spoke up Jack. "To-day one of the German girls came with her hair done like ours, and Fräulein marched her out of the room and slicked up her hair and braided it so tight her eyes almost popped out of her head. She came back looking so scared."
"And, oh, dear," groaned Jean, "we have to walk along so soberly when we go out for exercise. We don't dare turn our heads, and the girls look so creer in those funny little flat hats, as if they had crackers on their heads. I feel like a craker, or something, myself."
"Do you mean a cracker or a Quaker?" asked Jack mischievously.
"I mean a craker that you spell with a cu," replied Jean with dignity.
"Look here," said Nan laughing, "you youngsters mustn't begin to whine the minute we get here. Goodness! do you suppose there are not thousands of girls who would give their eyes to be in this beautiful place and have the chances you have? We have been junketing around for so long that we don't want to do anything else. Every mother's daughter of us has got to work; that is what we came to Munich for, and between times we shall have more to see than you would get in any other dozen cities rolled into one."
"It's all very well for you to talk," said Jack. "You are going to operas and grown-up things like that, and we can't."
"But you can do other things, and the operas and concerts are a part of my musical education; they would bore you to death. There are ever so many things for you to do."
"Tell me," said Jack, getting into her eldest sister's lap. Nan always made things pleasant for her.
"Well there is the Englischer Garden, a beautiful park that isn't walled in like some of those in England. There is a playground for children there and fine walks and drives. Then just now the October Fest is going on; it is something like our county fair at home."
"Are there merry-go-rounds and side-shows?"
"Yes, ever so many."
"Good!" Jack brought her hands smartly together.
"And then there are the museums full of all sorts of interesting things that you will like to see. On Saturdays we can make lovely excursions to Starnberger See or the Isarthal, and on some other days there is music played by military bands in different places. I believe it is every day at the Guardhouse on the Marienplatz, and every other day at the Feldhernhalle on the Odeonsplatz, but we can find out exactly. Those are amusements of the present; in winter there will be other things."
"What?"
"Well, there will be lots of skating."
"I can't skate very well."
"It will be a fine chance to learn here. About Christmas time there is always a fairy play for children, and at other times there is the marionette theatre that you and Jean will adore. Then, too, we shall probably go to the mountains for the holidays where you can see all sorts of funny doings."
"What kind?"
"Oh, ski-ing, and rodeling and all that."
"They're funny words, and I haven't the least idea what they mean."
"Ski is spelled with a k, but it is pronounced as if it were she, and rodeling means simply tobogganing on a small sled. Skis are great long things something like snow-shoes. I am crazy to learn to ski, for it must be something like flying. Then there will be the carnival that begins in January, though I don't suppose we shall see much of that. Besides, Jack," she went on, "the Munich streets are lovely. There are so many pretty squares and parks and fountains, not to mention the shops, so I don't think we could get very lonely or bored. After all I have told you I am sure you will think it is a nice place to be in, and that we shall have a good time here."
"I know I shall when you are around, you dear old Nan," said Jack, rubbing her cheek against her sister's.
"Even Aunt Helen is going to study," Nan said. "She knows French mighty well but her German isn't up to the scratch, she thinks, and she says while studying is in the air she will take advantage of it."
"We aren't going to stay in this hotel, are we?"
"No, we are going to a pension Aunt Helen knows of. There isn't room for us there now, but next week there will be, and we shall probably stay there till we go to Italy. Aunt Helen says it is nice and homelike, and we can be left there in perfect safety if mother and she have to go away."
"Will there be any other little girls?"
"I don't know. Very likely there will be. Now I must go and practice that dreadful Bach thing that I am getting ready for to-morrow." She gave Jack a hug and went off.
"Nan's such a nice old comfort," said Jack to her mother. "She always smooths out the wrinkles for me. I hope she won't get married before I do."
"I don't think I would begin to worry about that just yet," said Mrs. Corner smiling.
"Oh, I'm not worrying; I'm just taking time by the oar-lock."
Mrs. Corner laughed outright while Jack wondered why.
"Mayn't we go out into that pretty square where the big fountain is?" she asked.
"I don't like you to go alone."
"But it is so near. You can look out of the window and see it, and I am asking permission," said Jack as if the mere matter of asking were all sufficient.
"But you know over here in Europe little girls don't run about as freely as they do at home. Get one of your older sisters to go with you."
"Nan can't; she has to practice and Mary Lee has gone somewhere with Jo, and Aunt Helen went to see about lessons or books or something."
"Then I will go with you and sit by the fountain while you amuse yourselves."
This arrangement pleased the twins mightily. The big Wittelsbacher fountain in the Maximilianplatz was a thing to be admired and they were never tired of watching, what Jack called, its big splash of water. "I feel so satisfied when I look at it," she told her mother. "I never saw a fountain with so much water all going at once."
"I wish we could have brought over our dear little doggie," said Jean as she watched numberless little dachshunds trotting by.
"We couldn't very well do it," Mrs. Corner told her, "for we should have had to carry him around everywhere, and there is a law in some countries which makes it very hard for travelers to bring in their dogs. He is much better off where he is."
"I am afraid he will forget me," said Jack, whose dog the little creature really was.
"I don't doubt but that he will be quite ready to make friends again," her mother told her.
"I never saw such a crauntity of dogs as there are in Munich," said Jean. "I think everybody must own a dog, and there are more dachshunds than any other kind."
"I like them best," Jack declared. "With their little short legs and long bodies they look so funny, and they have such serious faces as if they had something to do and it was very important that they should get it done."
"There come Aunt Helen and the girls," cried Jean.
Miss Helen with Mary Lee on one side and Jo on the other mounted the little incline which led past the bench where the three were sitting. "Why," cried Miss Helen, "what are you doing here?"
"Mother came over with us to sit by the fountain. Isn't it a beauty, Aunt Helen? We like it so much."
"I like it, too, and we are so pleasantly near it. Indeed, I think this is a very convenient part of the city, for we are within walking distance of almost everything. Where is Nan?"
"She said she had to get that music into her fingers before to-morrow, so she is the only one who didn't come out-of-doors."
Miss Helen sank down on the bench by the side of Mrs. Corner. "I am tired," she said, "and in this thoroughly democratic place where one can do exactly as she pleases, I don't mind sitting openly in a square where the public passes by. That is one of the things I like about Munich. Nobody seems to mind wandering about deliberately. Men and women take time to stare into the shop-windows, and no one pays the least attention to them. You can wear your old clothes and not feel that you are dressed worse than half your neighbors. People here seem to live for something more than to change the fashion of their sleeves and to rush for ferry-boats and trains. They take time to enjoy themselves, as few do at home. I wonder if it is too late for a cup of tea. I feel the need of one."
Mrs. Corner consulted her watch. "It is just a little after five."
"Then, Jack," said Miss Helen, "go tell Nan she has practiced long enough and I want her to come with you to join us at the Conditorei on the Promenadeplatz. We will go there and you can meet us; it is only a little way from here."
Jack scampered off to obey, for this would be a new entertainment and Nan must not miss it.
"What is a Conditorei?" asked Jean.
"It means a confectioner's as near as I can make out, though this one seems to be a tea-room as well. It is a very pleasant place to go. You can choose your cakes at the counter and take them to the table with you, or else you can order them brought. I generally like to pick out what I would like best."
"That is what I should like," said Jean with much satisfaction, "for then you get them sooner. I am very glad you came along, Aunt Helen, for we mightn't have gone to the tea place if you hadn't."
Jack and Nan soon appeared, and the girls found it a very agreeable thing to sit in the pleasant little place watching the persons who came and went. There were many Americans among them, and the Germans were noticeable from taking their pet dogs with them here, as to other shops.
"You always see a collection of the dear things outside the big department stores," said Mary Lee. "I've counted a dozen sometimes, and even outside the churches you see them sometimes waiting for their masters. I like the way they are made to belong to the family and taken out as a matter of course; only sometimes they get so tired and look so bored and unhappy, though no doubt they would rather go than be left at home."
"I like those magnificent horses," said Nan. "I never believed there were horses with such noble arched necks, except in pictures or in statuary. They are the biggest things I ever saw, such great massive splendid specimens."
"They come from the north of Germany," Miss Helen told her. "They are used for draught horses, and you always see them harnessed to the big wagons. The oxen here are very large, too, and you will often see them hauling a load of bricks or stones through the streets."
"I have noticed a rather curious thing," remarked Mrs. Corner. "Sometimes you will see a wagon with a horse harnessed to one side the pole and not in shafts; it has a most curious effect, a very one-sided look."
"I saw something funnier than that," said Jack: "a man and a dog pulling a cart piled up with all sorts of stuff, old chairs and bits of stovepipe and things like that. The dog was pulling just as hard as the man and when the man stopped the dog lay down and seemed so pleased to think he had been helping. I liked that dog earning his living. I hope he gets well paid for it in nice food with plenty of bones to gnaw."
Here Jean heaved a long sigh having eaten the last morsel of her cake. "It was so good," she said. "May I have another piece, mother?"
"My dear child, I think one slice of that rich Prinz-Regenten cake is quite enough for one afternoon. Another time, but not now," and Jean mournfully accepted the decree.
"Speaking of Prinz-Regenten," said Miss Helen, "I am sorry we had to miss the Wagner Festival at the Prinz-Regenten Theatre, but we had to give that up or the trip to England."
"I really don't think we have been unwise in taking England instead," said Mrs. Corner, "for we shall be here long enough to enjoy all the opera necessary. The prices at the Festival are so very high, five dollars for a single performance, and I am told it is chiefly tourists who patronize the opera then. Sensible people wait till they can hear the same singers later on at a lower price."
"Nan is wild to hear Herr Knote," said Jo. "She already has ten post-card pictures of him and is always on the lookout for more."
"Of course," returned Nan. "He is the greatest German tenor, and why shouldn't I want to hear him; besides he isn't like some of the others, for everybody in Munich respects him and that speaks well, for he lives here."
"How do you know so much?" asked her mother.
"My music teacher told me."
"So that is what you talk about."
"It is one of the things. I am supposed to get history of music as well as the theory and practice, and he belongs to the history, I am sure."
"Without doubt," her aunt assured her, rising to go. "Well, Nan, I hope you will not be disappointed when you hear him."
"I know I shall not be," said Nan with conviction. "Frau Burg-Schmidt says his voice is simply great."
They wandered out into the street and across the fine Maximilianplatz to their hotel, feeling that they had chosen well in settling in Munich for six months.