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What Katy Did Next

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"I am afraid they are. We must make up our minds to find a great many
things not quite so nice as they sound when we read about them," replied
Mrs. Ashe.

Mabel was breakfasting with them, of course, and was heard to remark at
this juncture that she didn't like muffins, either, and would a great
deal rather have waffles; whereupon Amy reproved her, and explained that
nobody in England knew what waffles were, they were such a stupid
nation, and that Mabel must learn to eat whatever was given her and not
find fault with it!

After this moral lesson it was found to be dangerously near train-time;
and they all hurried to the railroad station, which, fortunately, was
close by. There was rather a scramble and confusion for a few moments;
for Katy, who had undertaken to buy the tickets, was puzzled by the
unaccustomed coinage; and Mrs. Ashe, whose part was to see after the
luggage, found herself perplexed and worried by the absence of checks,
and by no means disposed to accept the porter's statement, that if she'd
only bear in mind that the trunks were in the second van from the
engine, and get out to see that they were safe once or twice during the
journey, and call for them as soon as they reached London, she'd have no
trouble,--"please remember the porter, ma'am!" However all was happily
settled at last; and without any serious inconveniences they found
themselves established in a first-class carriage, and presently after
running smoothly at full speed across the rich English midlands toward
London and the eastern coast.

The extreme greenness of the October landscape was what struck them
first, and the wonderfully orderly and trim aspect of the country, with
no ragged, stump-dotted fields or reaches of wild untended woods. Late
in October as it was, the hedgerows and meadows were still almost
summer-like in color, though the trees were leafless. The
delightful-looking old manor-houses and farm-houses, of which they had
glimpses now and again, were a constant pleasure to Katy, with their
mullioned windows, twisted chimney-stacks, porches of quaint build, and
thick-growing ivy. She contrasted them with the uncompromising ugliness
of farm-houses which she remembered at home, and wondered whether it
could be that at the end of another thousand years or so, America would
have picturesque buildings like these to show in addition to her
picturesque scenery.

Suddenly into the midst of these reflections there glanced a picture so
vivid that it almost took away her breath, as the train steamed past a
pack of hounds in full cry, followed by a galloping throng of
scarlet-coated huntsmen. One horse and rider were in the air, going over
a wall. Another was just rising to the leap. A string of others, headed
by a lady, were tearing across a meadow bounded by a little brook, and
beyond that streamed the hounds following the invisible fox. It was like
one of Muybridge's instantaneous photographs of "The Horse in Motion,"
for the moment that it lasted; and Katy put it away in her memory,
distinct and brilliant, as she might a real picture.

Their destination in London was Batt's Hotel in Dover Street. The old
gentleman on the "Spartacus," who had "crossed" so many times, had
furnished Mrs. Ashe with a number of addresses of hotels and
lodging-houses, from among which Katy had chosen Batt's for the reason
that it was mentioned in Miss Edgeworth's "Patronage." "It was the
place," she explained, "where Godfrey Percy didn't stay when Lord
Oldborough sent him the letter." It seemed an odd enough reason for
going anywhere that a person in a novel didn't stay there. But Mrs. Ashe
knew nothing of London, and had no preference of her own; so she was
perfectly willing to give Katy hers, and Batt's was decided upon.

"It is just like a dream or a story," said Katy, as they drove away from
the London station in a four-wheeler. "It is really ourselves, and this
is really London! Can you imagine it?"

She looked out. Nothing met her eyes but dingy weather, muddy streets,
long rows of ordinary brick or stone houses. It might very well have
been New York or Boston on a foggy day, yet to her eyes all things had a
subtle difference which made them unlike similar objects at home.

"Wimpole Street!" she cried suddenly, as she caught sight of the name on
the corner; "that is the street where Maria Crawford in Mansfield Park,
you know, 'opened one of the best houses' after she married Mr.
Rushworth. Think of seeing Wimpole Street! What fun!" She looked eagerly
out after the "best houses," but the whole street looked uninteresting
and old-fashioned; the best house to be seen was not of a kind, Katy
thought, to reconcile an ambitious young woman to a dull husband. Katy
had to remind herself that Miss Austen wrote her novels nearly a century
ago, that London was a "growing" place, and that things were probably
much changed since that day.

More "fun" awaited them when they arrived at Batt's, and exactly such a
landlady sailed forth to welcome them as they had often met with in
books,--an old landlady, smiling and rubicund, with a towering lace cap
on her head, a flowered silk gown, a gold chain, and a pair of fat
mittened hands demurely crossed over a black brocade apron. She alone
would have been worth crossing the ocean to see, they all declared.
Their telegram had been received, and rooms were ready, with a bright,
smoky fire of soft coals; the dinner-table was set, and a nice, formal,
white-cravated old waiter, who seemed to have stepped out of the same
book with the landlady, was waiting to serve it. Everything was dingy
and old-fashioned, but very clean and comfortable; and Katy concluded
that on the whole Godfrey Percy would have done wisely to go to Batt's,
and could have fared no better at the other hotel where he did stay.

The first of Katy's "London sights" came to her next morning before she
was out of her bedroom. She heard a bell ring and a queer squeaking
little voice utter a speech of which she could not make out a single
word. Then came a laugh and a shout, as if several boys were amused at
something or other; and altogether her curiosity was roused, so that she
finished dressing as fast as she could, and ran to the drawing-room
window which commanded a view of the street. Quite a little crowd was
collected under the window, and in their midst was a queer box raised
high on poles, with little red curtains tied back on either side to form
a miniature stage, on which puppets were moving and vociferating. Katy
knew in a moment that she was seeing her first Punch and Judy!

The box and the crowd began to move away. Katy in despair ran to
Wilkins, the old waiter who was setting the breakfast-table.

"Oh, please stop that man!" she said. "I want to see him."

"What man is it, Miss?" said Wilkins.

When he reached the window and realized what Katy meant, his sense of
propriety seemed to receive a severe shock. He even ventured on
remonstrance.

"H'I wouldn't, Miss, h'if h'I was you. Them Punches are a low lot, Miss;
they h'ought to be put down, really they h'ought. Gentlefolks, h'as a
general thing, pays no h'attention to them."

But Katy didn't care what "gentlefolks" did or did not do, and insisted
upon having Punch called back. So Wilkins was forced to swallow his
remonstrances and his dignity, and go in pursuit of the objectionable
object. Amy came rushing out, with her hair flying and Mabel in her
arms; and she and Katy had a real treat of Punch and Judy, with all the
well-known scenes, and perhaps a few new ones thrown in for their
especial behoof; for the showman seemed to be inspired by the rapturous
enjoyment of his little audience of three at the first-floor windows.
Punch beat Judy and stole the baby, and Judy banged Punch in return, and
the constable came in and Punch outwitted him, and the hangman and the
devil made their appearance duly; and it was all perfectly satisfactory,
and "just exactly what she hoped it would be, and it quite made up for
the muffins," Katy declared.

Then, when Punch had gone away, the question arose as to what they
should choose, out of the many delightful things in London, for their
first morning.

Like ninety-nine Americans out of a hundred, they decided on Westminster
Abbey; and indeed there is nothing in England better worth seeing, or
more impressive, in its dim, rich antiquity, to eyes fresh from the
world which still calls itself "new." So to the Abbey they went, and
lingered there till Mrs. Ashe declared herself to be absolutely dropping
with fatigue.

"If you don't take me home and give me something to eat," she said, "I
shall drop down on one of these pedestals and stay there and be
exhibited forever after as an 'h'effigy' of somebody belonging to
ancient English history."

So Katy tore herself away from Henry the Seventh and the Poets' Corner,
and tore Amy away from a quaint little tomb shaped like a cradle, with
the marble image of a baby in it, which had greatly taken her fancy. She
could only be consoled by the promise that she should soon come again
and stay as long as she liked. She reminded Katy of this promise the
very next morning.

"Mamma has waked up with rather a bad headache, and she thinks she
will lie still and not come to breakfast," she reported. "And she
sends her love, and says will you please have a cab and go where you
like; and if I won't be a trouble, she would be glad if you would take
me with you. And I won't be a trouble, Miss Katy, and I know where I
wish you would go."

"Where is that!"

"To see that cunning little baby again that we saw yesterday. I want to
show her to Mabel,--she didn't go with us, you know, and I don't like to
have her mind not improved; and, darling Miss Katy, mayn't I buy some
flowers and put them on the Baby? She's so dusty and so old that I don't
believe anybody has put any flowers for her for ever so long."

Katy found this idea rather pretty, and willingly stopped at Covent
Garden, where they bought a bunch of late roses for eighteen pence,
which entirely satisfied Amy. With them in her hand, and Mabel in her
arms, she led the way through the dim aisles of the Abbey, through
grates and doors and up and down steps; the guide following, but not at
all needed, for Amy seemed to have a perfectly clear recollection of
every turn and winding. When the chapel was reached, she laid the roses
on the tomb with gentle fingers, and a pitiful, reverent look in her
gray eyes. Then she lifted Mabel up to kiss the odd little baby effigy
above the marble quilt; whereupon the guide seemed altogether surprised
out of his composure, and remarked to Katy,--

"Little Miss is an h'American, as is plain to see; no h'English child
would be likely to think of doing such a thing."

"Do not English children take any interest in the tombs of the Abbey?"
asked Katy.

"Oh yes, m'm,--h'interest; but they don't take no special notice of one
tomb above h'another."

Katy could scarcely keep from laughing, especially as she heard Amy, who
had been listening to the conversation, give an audible sniff, and
inform Mabel that she was glad _she_ was not an English child, who
didn't notice things and liked grown-up graves as much as she did dear
little cunning ones like this!

Later in the day, when Mrs. Ashe was better, they all drove together to
the quaint old keep which has been the scene of so many tragedies, and
is known as the Tower of London. Here they were shown various rooms and
chapels and prisons; and among the rest the apartments where Queen
Elizabeth, when a friendless young Princess, was shut up for many months
by her sister, Queen Mary. Katy had read somewhere, and now told Amy,
the pretty legend of the four little children who lived with their
parents in the Tower, and used to play with the royal captive; and how
one little boy brought her a key which he had picked up on the ground,
and said, "Now you can go out when you will, lady;" and how the Lords of
the Council, getting wind of it, sent for the children to question them,
and frightened them and their friends almost to death, and forbade them
to go near the Princess again.

A story about children always brings the past much nearer to a child,
and Amy's imagination was so excited by this tale, that when they got to
the darksome closet which is said to have been the prison of Sir Walter
Raleigh, she marched out of it with a pale and wrathful face.

"If this is English history, I never mean to learn any more of it, and
neither shall Mabel," she declared.

But it is not possible for Amy or any one else not to learn a great deal
of history simply by going about London. So many places are associated
with people or events, and seeing the places makes one care so much more
for the people or the events, that one insensibly questions and wonders.
Katy, who had "browsed" all through her childhood in a good
old-fashioned library, had her memory stuffed with all manner of little
scraps of information and literary allusions, which now came into use.
It was like owning the disjointed bits of a puzzle, and suddenly
discovering that properly put together they make a pattern. Mrs. Ashe,
who had never been much of a reader, considered her young friend a
prodigy of intelligence; but Katy herself realized how inadequate and
inexact her knowledge was, and how many bits were missing from the
pattern of her puzzle. She wished with all her heart, as every one
wishes under such circumstances, that she had studied harder and more
wisely while the chance was in her power. On a journey you cannot read
to advantage. Remember that, dear girls, who are looking forward to
travelling some day, and be industrious in time.

October is not a favorable month in which to see England. Water, water
is everywhere; you breathe it, you absorb it; it wets your clothes and
it dampens your spirits. Mrs. Ashe's friends advised her not to think of
Scotland at that time of the year. One by one their little intended
excursions were given up. A single day and night in Oxford and
Stratford-on-Avon; a short visit to the Isle of Wight, where, in a
country-place which seemed provokingly pretty as far as they could see
it for the rain, lived that friend of Mrs. Ashe who had married an
Englishman and in so doing had, as Katy privately thought, "renounced
the sun;" a peep at Stonehenge from under the shelter of an umbrella,
and an hour or two in Salisbury Cathedral,--was all that they
accomplished, except a brief halt at Winchester, that Katy might have
the privilege of seeing the grave of her beloved Miss Austen. Katy had
come abroad with a terribly long list of graves to visit, Mrs. Ashe
declared. They laid a few rain-washed flowers upon the tomb, and
listened with edification to the verger, who inquired,--

"Whatever was it, ma'am, that lady did which brings so many h'Americans
to h'ask about her? Our h'English people don't seem to take the same
h'interest."

"She wrote such delightful stories," explained Katy; but the old verger
shook his head.

"I think h'it must be some other party, Miss, you've confused with this
here. It stands to reason, Miss, that we'd have heard of 'em h'over 'ere
in England sooner than you would h'over there in h'America, if the books
'ad been h'anything so h'extraordinary."

The night after their return to London they were dining for the second
time with the cousins of whom Mrs. Ashe had spoken to Dr. Carr; and as
it happened Katy sat next to a quaint elderly American, who had lived
for twenty years in London and knew it much better than most Londoners
do. This gentleman, Mr. Allen Beach, had a hobby for antiquities, old
books especially, and passed half his time at the British Museum, and
the other half in sales rooms and the old shops in Wardour Street.

Katy was lamenting over the bad weather which stood in the way of
their plans.

"It is so vexatious," she said. "Mrs. Ashe meant to go to York and
Lincoln and all the cathedral towns and to Scotland; and we have had to
give it all up because of the rains. We shall go away having seen hardly
anything."

"You can see London."

"We have,--that is, we have seen the things that everybody sees."

"But there are so many things that people in general do not see. How
much longer are you to stay, Miss Carr?"

"A week, I believe."

"Why don't you make out a list of old buildings which are connected with
famous people in history, and visit them in turn? I did that the second
year after I came. I gave up three months to it, and it was most
interesting. I unearthed all manner of curious stories and traditions."

"Or," cried Katy, struck with a sudden bright thought, "why mightn't
I put into the list some of the places I know about in books,--novels
as well as history,--and the places where the people who wrote the
books lived?"

"You might do that, and it wouldn't be a bad idea, either," said Mr.
Beach, pleased with her enthusiasm. "I will get a pencil after dinner
and help you with your list if you will allow me."

Mr. Beach was better than his word. He not only suggested places and
traced a plan of sight-seeing, but on two different mornings he went
with them himself; and his intelligent knowledge of London added very
much to the interest of the excursions. Under his guidance the little
party of four--for Mabel was never left out; it was _such_ a chance for
her to improve her mind, Amy declared--visited the Charter-House, where
Thackeray went to school, and the Home of the Poor Brothers connected
with it, in which Colonel Newcome answered "Adsum" to the roll-call of
the angels. They took a look at the small house in Curzon Street, which
is supposed to have been in Thackeray's mind when he described the
residence of Becky Sharpe; and the other house in Russell Square which
is unmistakably that where George Osborne courted Amelia Sedley. They
went to service in the delightful old church of St. Mary in the Temple,
and thought of Ivanhoe and Brian de Bois-Guilbert and Rebecca the
Jewess. From there Mr. Beach took them to Lamb's Court, where Pendennis
and George Warrington dwelt in chambers together; and to Brick Court,
where Oliver Goldsmith passed so much of his life, and the little rooms
in which Charles and Mary Lamb spent so many sadly happy years. On
another day they drove to Whitefriars, for the sake of Lord Glenvarloch
and the old privilege of Sanctuary in the "Fortunes of Nigel;" and took
a peep at Bethnal Green, where the Blind Beggar and his "Pretty Bessee"
lived, and at the old Prison of the Marshalsea, made interesting by its
associations with "Little Dorrit." They also went to see Milton's house
and St. Giles Church, in which he is buried; and stood a long time
before St. James Palace, trying to make out which could have been Miss
Burney's windows when she was dresser to Queen Charlotte of bitter
memory. And they saw Paternoster Row and No. 5 Cheyne Walk, sacred
forevermore to the memory of Thomas Carlyle, and Whitehall, where Queen
Elizabeth lay in state and King Charles was beheaded, and the state
rooms of Holland House; and by great good luck had a glimpse of George
Eliot getting out of a cab. She stood for a moment while she gave her
fare to the cabman, and Katy looked as one who might not look again, and
carried away a distinct picture of the unbeautiful, interesting,
remarkable face.

With all this to see and to do, the last week sped all too swiftly, and
the last day came before they were at all ready to leave what Katy
called "Story-book England." Mrs. Ashe had decided to cross by Newhaven
and Dieppe, because some one had told her of the beautiful old town of
Rouen, and it seemed easy and convenient to take it on the way to Paris.
Just landed from the long voyage across the Atlantic, the little passage
of the Channel seemed nothing to our travellers, and they made ready for
their night on the Dieppe steamer with the philosophy which is born of
ignorance. They were speedily undeceived!

The English Channel has a character of its own, which distinguishes it
from other seas and straits. It seems made fractious and difficult by
Nature, and set as on purpose to be barrier between two nations who are
too unlike to easily understand each other, and are the safer neighbors
for this wholesome difficulty of communication between them. The "chop"
was worse than usual on the night when our travellers crossed; the
steamer had to fight her way inch by inch. And oh, such a little
steamer! and oh, such a long night!




CHAPTER VI.

ACROSS THE CHANNEL.


Dawn had given place to day, and day was well advanced toward noon,
before the stout little steamer gained her port. It was hours after
the usual time for arrival; the train for Paris must long since have
started, and Katy felt dejected and forlorn as, making her way out of
the terrible ladies'-cabin, she crept on deck for her first glimpse
of France.

The sun was struggling through the fog with a watery smile, and his
faint beams shone on a confusion of stone piers, higher than the
vessel's deck, intersected with canal-like waterways, through whose
intricate windings the steamer was slowly threading her course to the
landing-place. Looking up, Katy could see crowds of people assembled to
watch the boat come in,--workmen, peasants, women, children, soldiers,
custom-house officers, moving to and fro,--and all this crowd were
talking all at once and all were talking French!

I don't know why this should have startled her as it did. She knew, of
course, that people of different countries were liable to be found
speaking their own languages; but somehow the spectacle of the
chattering multitude, all seeming so perfectly at ease with their
preterits and subjunctives and never once having to refer to Ollendorf
or a dictionary, filled her with a sense of dismayed surprise.

"Good gracious!" she said to herself, "even the babies understand it!"
She racked her brains to recall what she had once known of French, but
very little seemed to have survived the horrors of the night!

"Oh dear! what is the word for trunk-key?" she asked herself. "They will
all begin to ask questions, and I shall not have a word to say; and Mrs.
Ashe will be even worse off, I know." She saw the red-trousered
custom-house officers pounce upon the passengers as they landed one by
one, and she felt her heart sink within her.

But after all, when the time came it did not prove so very bad. Katy's
pleasant looks and courteous manner stood her in good stead. She did not
trust herself to say much; but the officials seemed to understand
without saying. They bowed and gestured, whisked the keys in and out,
and in a surprisingly short time all was pronounced right, the baggage
had "passed," and it and its owners were free to proceed to the
railway-station, which fortunately was close at hand.

Inquiry revealed the fact that no train for Paris left till four in the
afternoon.

"I am rather glad," declared poor Mrs. Ashe, "for I feel too used up to
move. I will lie here on this sofa; and, Katy dear, please see if there
is an eating-place, and get some breakfast for yourself and Amy, and
send me a cup of tea."

"I don't like to leave you alone," Katy was beginning; but at that
moment a nice old woman who seemed to be in charge of the waiting-room
appeared, and with a flood of French which none of them could follow,
but which was evidently sympathetic in its nature, flew at Mrs. Ashe and
began to make her comfortable. From a cupboard in the wall she produced
a pillow, from another cupboard a blanket; in a trice she had one under
Mrs. Ashe's head and the other wrapped round her feet.

"Pauvre madame," she said, "si pâle! si souffrante! Il faut avoir
quelque chose à boire et à manger tout de suite." She trotted across the
room and into the restaurant which opened out of it, while Mrs. Ashe
smiled at Katy and said, "You see you can leave me quite safely; I am to
be taken care of." And Katy and Amy passed through the same door into
the _buffet_, and sat down at a little table.

It was a particularly pleasant-looking place to breakfast in. There were
many windows with bright polished panes and very clean short muslin
curtains, and on the window-sills stood rows of thrifty potted plants in
full bloom,--marigolds, balsams, nasturtiums, and many colored
geraniums. Two birds in cages were singing loudly; the floor was waxed
to a glass-like polish; nothing could have been whiter than the marble
of the tables except the napkins laid over them. And such a good
breakfast as was presently brought to them,--delicious coffee in
bowl-like cups, crisp rolls and rusks, an omelette with a delicate
flavor of fine herbs, stewed chicken, little pats of freshly churned
butter without salt, shaped like shells and tasting like solidified
cream, and a pot of some sort of nice preserve. Amy made great delighted
eyes at Katy, and remarking, "I think France is heaps nicer than that
old England," began to eat with a will; and Katy herself felt that if
this railroad meal was a specimen of what they had to expect in the
future, they had indeed come to a land of plenty.

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