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it would have been worth a voyage across the Atlantic. The Temple Church and Gardens were another delight; and no matter where they went, stories, poems, quotations, dates, facts, came thronging to Marian's mind; and Nina hanging on her arm, her eyes bright with excitement, her cheeks flushed, more than once with lips trembling and eyes full of tears, eagerly heard them all, with even more intelligence and sympathy than Marian had given her credit

She could not hear enough, indeed, about Blondel and the Lion-heart, Elizabeth and Mary, Lady Jane Grey, Warwick the Kingmaker, and many, many more.

Her interest showed itself in some characteristic ways. The rabbit-faced, anxious verger at the Abbey, finding her brandishing her umbrella fiercely about Queen Elizabeth's head in a way that would have endangered her own a few centuries back, went up to her in great haste to ask, "Whatever are you doing? -defacing the monuments ? "

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"Ugh-h!" said Nina, still looking at her imperious majesty, and making an atrocious grimace, intended to be expressive of the utmost hatred and contempt, taking no notice of him whatever. "You hateful, red-headed old fright of a tyrant, who killed that sweet, lovely, beautiful cousin who trusted you! I'd like to send you to the Tower forever, and never give you anything to eat, and never let you read your letters. And I would, too, if I only had you in New York!"

The startled verger stared with all his eyes on hearing this, but before he could say more Nina had turned to him quickly, saying, "I'm so sorry she 's dead! I'd like to punish her, I would.—What do you wear that black nightgown for?"

When he could collect his senses he made answer gruffly: "'Er Majesty Queen Helizabeth was the greatest sovering Hengland 's ever 'ad, miss, and so was 'er reign; and you 're actin' suspicious and talkin' in a way that can't be allowed 'ere, a-showin' disrespect to the crown in estronnary langwidge and threatenin' wiolence. Please to walk on, and not stop behind again, miss; and give over that umbrella to me. I did n't notice it. As to my gown, it's what all vergers wears; and I'm not to be made game

of, I can tell you, by none in my own Habbey! The dean hisself would n't think of it. The harches in this chapel, you will observe - " and so on.

Marian was amused to hear his voice rise' to its usual rasping professional level at the close of his sentence, and taking Nina's hand, she led her away to the Poet's Corner.

The particular Beefeater who chanced to be on duty at the Tower, and fell to their lot, had likewise a misunderstanding with Nina.

"Do you belong to a circus?" Nina demanded of him when she found an opportunity. "Belong to a circus, miss? Well, I should say not. I'm a soldier. I've served in Canada and India and Afghanistan, and won a medal in the Kaffir troubles; and they gave me this place, although there were others that wanted it. I belonged to the 79th Lowlanders. And I 've got two brothers in the 'Black Watch,'" said he with evident pride.

"I never saw a black watch. Are they for colored people?" said Nina.

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"Not they, miss! Never! Nor nothin' to do with 'em. They are as white as you or me, excuse me mentionin' you so freely,― and better soldiers never followed a flag nor heard a drum," said the veteran with pardonable pride. "And what you mean by a circus I can't make out."

"Well, there's a whole lot of you over here, in houses and on the carriages and round everywhere, that look to me as if a circus was around. But never mind. If I were you, though, I'd be ashamed to stay here, and keep on putting people in here and locking them up and treating them shamefully—even when you don't kill them—if I were a soldier."

"Oh, miss, there is n't any of that now not a bit, bless you! excuse me blessin' you —and you 're quite right. I've said the same to myself many a time. If I had been living and had taken the Queen's shilling then,-I mean enlisted, Miss, I do believe I would have deserted. A soldier is n't a butcher, and butchers was what was wanted then."

This established pleasanter relations between them, and before parting he gave her a bit of wood from an old beam recently torn out of the White Tower in the course of some repairs that

had been made, saying, " You 'd like that, miss, would n't you? A tale it could tell, and no mistake, if it had a tongue like yours. Excuse me mentionin' it. I give it to you because you 're from the States; and I served out in

Canada myself."

she would have laughed the idea to scorn. She thought it delightful, while to be "educated" had meant to her long, stupid lessons and close rooms and headache — “chains and slavery." "It is the nicest thing going about with you," she once said to Marian. "You know

“Thank you, awfully," said Nina, and looked, all about everything, you 're not a bit poky,

as she felt, highly pleased.

This souvenir, with a flower from the Temple Gardens, "right from the very spot where they began to quarrel like cats and dogs, and had the War of the Roses,” as Nina used afterward to explain, became the beginning of a large collection of interesting mementos, and helped to fix in her mind a large amount of "historical information" not called by that official and forbidding title. When they came home, after they had rested and dined Marian would laughingly question Nina as to what she had seen. At first she had been so little trained to observation that she could mention only two or three things that had impressed her, and could give no clear account of those; but it was wonderful to see how her memory improved. That she might do so, Marian would, "for the fun of it," suggest that she should walk past a shop-window at her usual pace, and then reckon up what she had seen. The list grew and grew, to Nina's delight, until it embraced a truly extraordinary number and variety of objects.

In the same way she soon learned to use her eyes and memory, as they dashed through the streets in a hansom, or walked in the park, and found the greatest amusement in it. Very soon she was even giving detailed descriptions of the people whom she passed in this casual way, the streets and the shops — and capital objectlessons they made. And all this was a great help when it came to seeing the features of the "commercial capital of the world." In intelligent interest, in the power of grasping and retaining the knowledge she acquired, she made most satisfactory progress; and Marian was confirmed in her belief as to Nina's cleverness, and the necessity of filling her empty little head with something better than idle talk or fool ish, hurtful gossip. If Nina had been told that this was being "educated" no less than if she had been set to work out problems in algebra,

and that Dickens's history and the Gilbert à Becket's are not a bit like the histories we studied at our school. And you read such lovely stories about things, and you never get mad with me, and—you 're just splendid!"

Marian had told in her own words the story of "Ivanhoe," and all about Warwick and his followers, "stories" from Shakspere, "stories" about Temple Bar and the traitors' heads that used to be fixed above it, "stories" about the celebrities they saw at the wax-works. She read Nina bits from Ainsworth's "London"; she showed her the pictures in the "Comic History of England"; she repeated Aytoun's and Macaulay's lays to her; she picked out bits of Froissart to read aloud; she told her of Sidney, of Chevalier Bayard, of Drake, of Sir Walter Raleigh, and of Sir Thomas More

something interesting at every turn. And Nina took it in with all her eyes as well as ears.

With the National Gallery it was the same thing, and so with the old inns of London, the old churches, Fleet Street, the Strand, Trafalgar Square.

And there was so much honest, merry fun in Marian that, not content with these, she would repeat Thackeray's ballads-"Eliza Davis" and "Three Sailors of Bristol City"— or the "Bab Ballads" and the "Ingoldsby Legends." She was, indeed, far more interested herself in all about her than Nina, keeping a sharp lookout for Dickens's characters, reveling in all that was seen and suggested.

"Oh, there's Sam Weller!" she would cry out; or "I'm sure the Dolls' Dressmaker lives in that dark, fusty little shop"; or "Here come Mr. Pickwick and Miss Flite!" And then of course Nina would be all questions, and there would be more stories. There never were three weeks more brimful of all pleasantness.

Only once was Nina a little unruly. It was the day they went down to the Horse Guards.

Fascinated by the mounted sentries, chosen from the Household cavalry, on guard in the stone alcoves of the arched roadway leading to St. James's Park, and apparently as immovable as if also carved out of stone, Nina stared and stared. "Are you sure they are alive? she said. "If I had a bonnet-pin I'd try it on the calf of that one's leg, and see. I'd make him jump!" Here a thought struck her. Groping in her pocket, she took out a metal tape-measure that happened to be there, and with a jerk of the arm sent it right across the sentry's face, so that it just grazed his nose.

"Oh, Cousin Marian! He looked right straight ahead, just the same! He did n't move a single mite! He only winked!" she cried. "What would he do if there should be an earthquake?" whereupon Marian exclaimed, “Nina!" and begged the sentry's pardon for her, and got another wink of forgiveness from the mountain of military trappings set in his niche like the god of war.

As they walked away, Marian told Nina of the Roman soldier who would not leave his post when Pompeii was buried under burning lava, to show her to what perfection discipline could be carried, and what a soldier's idea of duty is. "He could die, but he could n't be unfaithful," she concluded. "Was it not a fine, brave, beautiful thing?"

On the day that they went to the Hospital for Sick Children, it happened that as they entered the chief ward, the first child they saw had propped herself up on her elbow and was looking out of the window trying to peep at the Punch and Judy show in the street below.

"I can't see it. It's so far away. And I'm so tired of lying here and being ill; and the dog is like my dog I used to have," she complained, and weeping, fell back on her little pillow.

"Never mind, dearie. As soon as you are well enough. you shall go out and see one. There! there! Don't fret," said the nurse, a comely, middle-aged person with a pleasant face and cheerful voice.

"She's had to wear an iron brace for a year past, and she gets restless sometimes, poor child," she explained in a low tone.

"I'll

"Can she go down?" asked Nina. take her. I wish I'd brought Beelzebub to show her; he 's just about the loveliest fright that anybody ever saw. Goodness! what a lot of little beds! And are all the children in irons, like this one? Why don't you let the poor little thing go down if she wants to? I'd hop right out of that bed and go anyway, if I lived here."

"Oh, no, you would n't. You could n't move; you know we have to keep them quiet," said the nurse.

"Then why don't here?" said Nina. 66 little things! I'll pay him. him for them right now." She was about to dart off. The nurse gently detained her.

you have it come up Why, that 's it! Poor I'll run and get

"It is a capital idea. We never thought of that, and it would be a very great pleasure to them, and it is very kind of you to think of it. Would you allow it?" she asked, looking at Marian.

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Oh, she 's got nothing to do with it. It's my money, and I 've got plenty of it, and I 'm going to spend it just as I please," said Nina; then catching sight of Marian's face, she hastily added, "You don't care? You'd like me to do it, would n't you, Cousin Marian?”

"Yes, I should," agreed Marian.

"Very well, then. It is most kind of the young lady, and I'll send down if I can get permission. I'll go and see." She went off.

"I did n't mean a thing when I said that about the money," whispered Nina; "only, everything 's permission' in England. I never saw such a place."

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But in five minutes the smiling nurse was back again, followed by the show and the showman. "This young lady from America kindly wishes you to play for the children," she said to him; but she was scarcely heard for the delighted cries of the children, nearly all of whom rose up in their beds and turned toward the show like so many little sunflowers turning toward the sun, while he dexterously set up his miniature theater, and shook out Judy's skirts, and prepared Punch for his labors.

Seldom at any theater have actors given half so much pleasure to an audience. Some of the

children laughed, shrieked, rolled about on their beds, thumped their pillows, were doubled up with the ecstasy of the entertainment. It was pathetic to see the wan little faces flush, the sunken eyes brighten, to hear the feeble attempts at laughter. And Nina, in the midst of them, enjoyed it, too, immensely, and secretly determined to get up a private "Punch and Judy" of her own, with Beelzebub cast as "Toby." When it was all over, the good-natured proprietor of the puppets laid them away in their boxes, and then took the trouble to make his Toby show off some of his tricks, such as jumping through a ring, picking the knave of diamonds out of a pack of cards, and waltzing in a giddy, sprawling fashion that was very comical. He would take no money for this, saying," So the poor young uns be pleased, it's all I wants; and pleased they be, ma'am."

Nina made the rounds of the ward, and heard the names of the children and something of their histories. She promised to see them again, and was delighted when one of them cried out, "Come again soon, won't you?" and so took her leave.

"That was delightful, dear, was n't it?" said Marian. "I am so glad you thought of it. Is n't it a joyful thing to have given all that pleasure? It was money well spent, dear; and you will be the richer and happier for what you spend in such ways, all your life long."

Both in the doing and the remembering, this experience was the nicest of all the London adventures, although Nina greatly enjoyed the "Zoo," the Crystal Palace, the flowers at the Royal Botanic and Horticultural gardens, and the charming jaunts to Kew, Richmond, Hampton Court, and Windsor, that Marian proposed. Nina had never been so good, so busy, so happy, in all her life. She was as brisk as a swallow, and chattered like a magpie, and quite forgot to be troublesome, wilful, or naughty, for the time being.

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The very first day that Mrs. Andrews could get out, though, they went shopping, and the original Nina cropped out again. She kept her Grandy standing for a full hour while she chose no less than six dresses, and gave her own orders about them to an astonished young "person," in one of the great shops. Mrs. Andrews tried to order a mantle for herself, while Nina was buying other things; but Nina came up, joined in the conversation, advised, ridiculed her taste, informed her that she could settle it all in five minutes, and said to the saleswoman as they were leaving, "And you hurry up as fast as ever you can with my things. Send them first." And with small ceremony she hustled out of the shop and into her cab.

"I have n't a suitable dinner-gown to wear at Aubrey Court; and I really need my mantle at once," complained Mrs. Andrews peevishly to Marian. "But Nina has so much to be done that I'll have to wait for weeks, I suppose, for either."

"I don't see that at all, cousin," said Marian; and going to her room, she wrote a note politely requesting the dressmaker to send Mrs. Andrews's gown and cloak down to the country as soon as possible, and to finish Nina's at her convenience afterward. But after some reflection she tore up this note.

"I will see what responsibility will do toward steadying her and making her unselfish. She shall write it herself; that is the best way," said Marian.

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are grown, and make her the happiest old lady nized the address of the note, read it hurriedly, in New York."

Nina flushed, went and got her portfolio, and seating herself, rapidly wrote a highly imperative note, very eccentric as to spelling and doubtful as to tenses, but unmistakably ordering all possible haste and industry to be made with Mrs. Andrews's gown and mantle. She showed it to Marian, and sent Claudine out to put it in the nearest pillar-post at once. She found this feeling of responsibility so pleasant, indeed, that she proceeded to exercise it still further that afternoon. After luncheon she was dressing her pug up in various garments that she had made for him, to her own and Claudine's great amusement, when he suddenly fell down as she was tying a bonnet rather tightly under his chin, and rolled over in a kind of fit, the result of over-feeding. Marian, as it happened, was out.

"Oh! he 's going to have another! I'm going to send for Sir Wilkinson right away," cried Nina. "He shall come and give my darling Beelzebub something to cure him.

Here,

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could not quite make it out, but concluded that Mrs. Andrews was dying, and exclaimed, "Good heavens! "Good heavens! What can have made that old lady go off like that? She seemed all right enough. This poor child is evidently left alone with her, and frightened to death."

So he gave up his luncheon, and getting into his carriage, bade the coachman drive to the hotel as quickly as possible. When he arrived at Mrs. Andrews's rooms, puffing and breathless from making the ascent of a long flight of steps, he was met at the door by Nina.

"Where is she? How is she? I got your note, my poor child, and came at once," he said, looking around, surprised not to see Mrs. Andrews. She was in Marian's room and, of

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NEW YORK,

UNITED STATES.

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She was much pleased with this missive when she read it over. She addressed it to "Mr. Sir Wilkinson Jebb, in Harley Street, London, England," and sent it by a messenger who had previously carried notes to the house.

Sir Wilkinson was in, as it happened, scrutiVOL. XXIV.-76.

course, knew nothing of what thoughtless Nina had done.

"Did you bring anything for fits?" asked Nina briskly, not at all surprised to see the Doctor, and not dreaming of thanking him for what she considered a matter of course.

"Yes, I have something here, and my lancet;

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