akfast.

"I want some potatoes with my ham," she said, and when the attendant
explained that the vegetables were never eaten in England at that meal,
she inquired, "Don't you grow potatoes anywhere in this country?"

The attendant said that very fine ones were produced in the immediate
vicinity, and Mrs. Savine waved a jeweled hand majestically.

"Then away you go and buy some. I'll sit right here until they're
boiled," she said.

"It really isn't the custom, and you know you never got them in London,
and hardly ate them at home," said Thomas Savine, but Mrs. Savine
remained superior to such reasoning.

"That's quite outside the question. I want those potatoes, and I'm
going to have them," she insisted.

There was a whispering at the end of the breakfast hall, somebody
whistled up a tube, and the hotel manager appeared to announce, with
regrets, that it was unfortunately impossible in the busy season to
upset the culinary arrangements for the benefit of a single guest.

"Then we'll start again and follow the Schroeders' trail to that place
in Cumberland," Mrs. Savine decided. "Tom, you go out and buy one of
those twenty five cent guide-books which tell you all about everything.
Hire some ponies and a man, and we'll drive a straight line across the
mountains."

The manager respectfully suggested it would be better to take the
train, even though the railway went round, because the mountains were
lofty, and the roads were indifferent in the region traversed. To this
the lady answered with some truth that the highest peak in Britain was
a pigmy to the lowest of the Selkirks, and that she had spent two
summers camping among the fastnesses of the snow-clad Olympians.

"Your aunt is a smart woman, but she can't help upsetting things," said
Thomas Savine, when his niece went out with him to make arrangements
for the trip. Helen smiled pleasantly, for she knew her aunt's good
qualities, and also she was fond of adventurous wanderings.

It was perfect weather, and the three tourists enjoyed their journey
among the less frequented fells, during which they camped, so Thomas
Savine termed it, each night in some high-perched hostelry or
trout-fisher's haunt. Helen realized that never before had she fully
appreciated the beauty of England. Quite apart from its wonders of
industrial enterprise, tide of world-wide commerce, and treasury of
literature and art, the old country was to be loved for its quiet,
green restfu