s was
echoed from the city more than once, and then we began to look
anxiously for the steamer. Five, ten minutes must have passed--they
seemed hours to me--when I asked a man who was waiting also when the
steamer from London Bridge would come.

"She'll be here soon," said he.

"So will old Rowe," whispered Fred.

But the steamer came first, and we went on board; and the paddles
began to splash, and our escape was accomplished.

It was a lovely morning, and the tall, dirty old houses looked almost
grand in the sunlight as we left Nine Elms. The distant city came
nearer and shone brighter, and when the fretted front of the Houses
of Parliament went by us like a fairy palace, and towers and blocks of
buildings rose solidly one behind another in shining tints of white
and grey against the blue summer sky, and when above the noise of our
paddle-wheels came the distant roar of the busy streets--Fred pressed
the arm I had pushed through his and said, "We're out in the world at
last!"

CHAPTER XII.

EMERGENCIES AND POLICEMEN--FENCHURCH STREET STATION--THIRD CLASS TO
CUSTOM HOUSE--A SHIP FOREST.

Policemen are very useful people. I do not know how we should have got
from the London Bridge Pier to the Fenchurch Street Station if it had
not been that Fred told me he knew one could ask policemen the way to
places. There is nothing to pay, which I was very glad of, as the
canvas bag was getting empty.

Once or twice they helped us through emergencies. We had to go from
one footpath to another, straight across the street, and the street
was so full of carts and cabs and drays and omnibuses, that one could
see that it was quite an impossibility. We did it, however, for the
policeman made us. I said, "Hadn't we better wait till the crowd has
gone?" But the policeman laughed, and said then we had better take
lodgings close by and wait at the window. So we did it. Fred said the
captain once ran in a little cutter between two big ships that were
firing into him, but I do not think that can have been much worse than
running between a backing dray, full of rolling barrels, and a hansom
cab pulled up and ramping like a rocking-horse at the lowest point of
the rockers.

When we were safely on the other pavement we thanked the policeman
very much, and then went on, asking our way till we got to Fenchurch
Street.

If anything could smell nastier than John's berth in Nine Elms it is
Fenchurch Street Station. And I think i