f the applicants came up
to even Norah's limited standard. Finally, however, Mr. Linton had
refused to enter any more registry-offices or to let Norah enter them,
describing them, in good set terms as abominable holes; and judicious
advertising had secured them a housekeeper who seemed promising, and a
cook who insisted far more on the fact that she was a lady than on any
ability to prepare meals. The family, while not enthusiastic, was
hopeful.

"I hope she's all right," Norah said doubtfully. "I suppose we can't
expect much--they all tell you that nearly every servant in England
has 'gone into munitions,' which always sounds as though she'd get
fired out of a trench-mortar presently."

"Some of those we saw might be benefited by the process," said Mr.
Linton, shuddering at memories of registry-offices.

"Well, what about the rest?--haven't you got to get a kitchenmaid and
some more housemaids or things?" queried Jim vaguely.

"I'm not going to try here," said Mr. Linton firmly. "Life is too
short; I'd sooner be my own kitchenmaid than let Norah into one of
those offices again. Allenby's niece will have to double a few parts
at first, and I've written to Ireland--to Mrs. Moroney--to see if she
can find us two or three nice country girls. I believe she'll be able
to do it. Meanwhile we'll throw care to the winds. I've told Allenby
to order in all necessary stores, so that we can be sure of getting
something to eat when we go down; beyond that, I decline to worry, or
let Norah worry, about anything."

"Then let's go out and play," cried Norah, jumping up.

"Right!" said the boys. "Where?"

"Oh, anywhere--we'll settle as we go!" said Norah airily. She fled
for her hat and coat.

So they went to the Tower of London--a place little known to the
English, but of which Australians never tire--and spent a blissful
afternoon in the Armoury, examining every variety of weapons and
armament, from Crusaders' chain-mail to twentieth-century rifles.
There is no place so full of old stories and of history--history that
suddenly becomes quite a different matter from something you learn by
the half-page out of an extremely dull book at school. This is
history alive, and the dim old Tower becomes peopled with gay and
gallant figures clad in shining armour, bent on knightly adventures.
There you see mail shirts of woven links that slip like silken mesh
through the fingers, yet could withstand the deadliest thrust of a