e Abbey
lifted their pinnacles into the grey sky, while St. Margaret's Church
looked almost small and diminutive by its side. Up Whitehall we could
see the dim outlines of the great Government buildings, while the broad
thoroughfare pulsated with the roaring traffic.

For some seconds Edgecumbe did not speak, then he burst out excitedly.
'It's a wonderful old city, isn't it? The finest, grandest city in the
world! Do you know, it casts a kind of spell upon me. I sometimes think
there is more good in London than in any other place.'

'Any one would not think so, judging by your conversation just now,' I
laughed.

'But there is,' he said. 'Why, think of the kindness and loving service
shown to the returning soldiers! Think of the thousands of women who are
giving their lives to nursing them and caring for them! Come on,' and he
moved towards Westminster Bridge.

'That's not the way back to the hotel.'

'I am not going back to the hotel yet,' he said.

'Where are you going, then?'

'To Waterloo station. There will be trains coming in from the coast. I
want to see what happens to the soldiers who are coming back from the
front.'

CHAPTER XXVII

SEEING LONDON

I am not going to write at length on what we saw at Waterloo station, and
in its vicinity. In a way, our experiences were interesting beyond
words, and while there was much which made one rejoice, there was also
much to sadden. While we were there, a train came in laden with troops.
Hundreds of men had come home on leave, and they had now arrived at this
great terminus. What rejoiced me was to see the number of Y.M.C.A.
workers, as well as others from various Christian bodies, who met the men
and welcomed them. Of course there were numbers who were eagerly
welcomed by their friends; others had evidently made their plans to get
back to their homes quickly, while many more seemed bewildered and
lonely. Lads who had originally hailed from Canada and Australia, and
who knew nothing of London, looked around the huge station as though not
knowing what to do, and if ever I felt glad because of the work of the
Y.M.C.A., I felt it then. They seemed to have a kind of genius for
knowing the men who were without friends, and for giving them a hearty
welcome back.

I knew that, scattered all over London, were Huts and Hostels which they
have provided for these lads who were strangers in a strange city, and
that many of them would be taken to thes