learning. She stayed there for some years, and then her frail
little ill-nourished body gave out, and she was gravely ill.

When she recovered, she went as English governess to a rich German
family in Bremen. The arrangement was only for one year, and at its
termination she was free to offer to meet Jan and her charges.

CHAPTER X

PLANS

"Now, chicks, this is London, the friendly town," Jan announced, as the
taxi drove away from Charing Cross station.

"Flendly little London, dirty little London," her niece rejoined, as she
bounced up and down on Jan's knee. She had slept during the very good
crossing and was full of conversation and ready to be pleased with all
she saw.

Tony was very quiet. He had suffered far more in the swift journey
across France than during the whole of the voyage, and it was difficult
to decide whether he or Ayah were the more extraordinary colour.
Greenish-white and miserable he sat beside his aunt, silent and
observing.

"Here's dear old Piccadilly," Jan exclaimed, as the taxi turned out of
St. James's Street. "Doesn't it look jolly in the sunshine?"

Tony turned even greener than before, and gasped:

"This! Piccadilly!"

This not very wide street with shops and great houses towering above
them, the endless streams of traffic in the road and on the crowded
pavements!

"Did Mrs. Bond live in one of those houses?" he wondered, "and if so,
where did she keep her ducks? And where, oh, where, were the tulips and
the lilies of his dream?"

He uttered no sound, but his mind kept exclaiming, "This! Piccadilly?"

"See," said Jan, oblivious of Tony and intent on keeping her lively
niece upon her knee. "There's the Green Park."

Tony breathed more freely.

After all, there _were_ trees and grass; good grass, and more of it than
in the Resident's garden. He took heart a little and summoned up courage
to inquire: "But where are the tulips?"

"It's too early for tulips yet," Jan answered. "By and by there will be
quantities. How did you know about them? Did dear Mummy tell you? But
they're in Hyde Park, not here."

Tony made no answer. He was, as usual, weighing and considering and
making up his mind.

Presently he spoke. "It's different," he said, slowly, "but I rather
like to look at it."

Tony never said whether he thought things were pretty or ugly. All he
knew was that certain people and places, pictures and words, sometimes
filled him with an exquisite sense of pleas