lively interest.

"Well, I don't blame them much," Jessie answered; "it is fascinating."

"Yes; only they don't have the heads of Dukes and things on spikes the
way they used to," Evelyn complained.

"Goodness, Evelyn, you can't expect everything! Besides, you wouldn't
actually like to _see_ those things," cried Lucile, horrified.

"Well, maybe I wouldn't _like_ to look at them," Evelyn retracted,
embarrassed by so many laughing eyes upon her. "But if they were there, I
just couldn't help looking, could I?" she finished, lamely.

There was a shout, and Jessie exclaimed, "I do believe you'd enjoy being
a cannibal, Evelyn. You and the black-skins certainly have a great many
views in common."

At last they had left the bridge behind and were once more speeding
through the historic streets of London.

"The Abbey now, Dad?" Phil questioned, eagerly. "That's what I came to
Europe to see, you know."

"Seems to me you're getting mighty familiar," commented Jessie. "Why
don't you call it by its full name?"

"Are we, Dad?" said Phil, ignoring the interruption.

"We are," said Mr. Payton. "I've been wanting to see it, along with other
things, all my life, Phil. You see, I wasn't so lucky as you. However, I
expect to make up for lost time."

"Well, it's a treat just to ride along the streets," said Evelyn. "It's
so very different from anything I ever saw before."

"Yes; you could imagine you were reading Dickens," said Lucile, her eyes
bright with the idea. "Why, that little shop might almost be the same one
where----"

"Uncle Sol and Cap'n Cuttle hung out," said Phil.

"Yes," Jessie added, excitedly. "And you can almost see little Florence
Dombey----"

"And her black-eyed maid, Susan," said Evelyn, eagerly, and they all
laughed delightedly at the picture.

"Gee, it does seem to make his books lots more real," Phil chuckled.
"Dear old Cap'n Cuttle and Uncle Sol's nevvy, Wal'r--you remember him,
don't you?"

Of course they did. So on they went, most of the time in gales of
merriment, as some house or modest little shop suggested some character
or happening in the books of the great writer and humorist.

So happy were they in their imagining that they were almost sorry to find
themselves at their destination.

"Oh, so soon?" cried Lucile, trying vainly to straighten the corners of
her laughing mouth into some semblance of the sobriety that befitted so
great an occasion. "Oh, I never get enough of anything!" Th