ed Jenkins.

'Piccadilly, mother. One of the best parts of London.'

'Deet, and I should think so. 'Tis like a 'lumination lights. There's no
night here. Daylight all the year round. Trees again, like Glanyravon
Park, and lights along by. There pretty--what a many carriages! Was they
all going to the play? Soldiers, too, I am thinking! And more o' them
gentlemen's servants in blue and white. Do all the servants in London be
wearing the same livery, Howel?'

'Those are the police, mother,' said Howel, laughing.

'The pleece! Well, I do be calling them handsome men. When will the
noise stop, Howel? I can't hear myself speak, much less you and Netta.
'Tis more noise than Hollantide fair! But maybe 'tis fairday here
to-day, only I wasn't seeing no cattle. There for you! that man 'll
upset us, seure he will.'

'Here we are, mother,' interrupted Howel, as the cab stopped in Half
Moon Street. 'Now, you must remember that the landlady is not to be in
all our secrets.'

'Seure, and this isn't half as grand as Pic--what's that long name,
Howel?'

'Will you walk upstairs, ma'am,' said a well-dressed woman who stood in
the passage of the house at which they stopped.

'Thank you, ma'am,' said Mrs Jenkins, making her very best curtsey to
the landlady.

'Is tea ready, Mrs Thompson?' asked Howel, hastening into the passage.

'Yes, sir!' replied Mrs Thompson, trying to catch a glimpse of Netta's
face.

'This way, mother,' said Howel, striding upstairs. 'You can send the
traps into the bedrooms, Mrs Thompson. William, take them up.'

This to a smart tiger, emblazoned in green and gold, belonging to
Howel's private menagerie.

'What a lovely room! what a beautiful fire!' cried Netta, as she
followed Howel into a handsome first-floor drawing-room.

'Treue for you there!' said Mrs Jenkins, surveying herself in the glass.

Tea was ready, and a substantial repast besides, of which they all soon
began to partake, and to which they did justice.

'I do wish I had that drop of brandy I left in those grand rooms, I am
feeling a pain,' began Mrs Jenkins.

Howel drew a flask from his pocket, and poured a little brandy into his
mother's tea.

'This must be the first and last time mother,' he said, as he did so.

When they had finished tea, Howel told them that their room was within
the folding-doors, and that Netta would find a dress there for the play,
and must make haste, if she meant to go. His mother, being in her very
be