“Where’s your history? Didn’t the Romans live here once upon a time?” asked Godmother Strangeways briskly. “So they did,” murmured Betty. “Well, some of them settled in this island soon after the birth of Christ, and that _is_ nearly two thousand years ago.” “But I didn’t know they lived in _London_?” Godmother laughed. “They _made_ London, child. The first London. And just in the place where it now stands, at the mouth of the Thames.” “But was it called London then?” “Something very like it. It’s earliest name was _Llyn-din_, and the Romans called it _Londinium_. You see how easy it is to get _London_ out of that? They had another name for it as well—quite a different one.—They sometimes called it _Augusta_.” Betty was silent for a minute, then after a quick glance at her godmother she said rather timidly, “Dad says what you know about London is quite _uncanny_. He says he wonders you don’t write a book about it. When you asked me to come to see you, he was very pleased because he said if any one could make me like London it was you. And of course as I have to live here I should _like_ to like it!” She sighed rather hopelessly. The old lady began to smile, and her smile was mysterious. “Shall I tell you why I don’t write a book about London?” she said. “It’s because if I did, it _would_ be considered uncanny, as Dad says.” Betty began to look and feel excited. “Oh, why? Do tell me why?” “I’m not quite sure whether it would be of any use to tell you, but I shall know better in a few hours’ time, when I’ve seen a little more of you. I’m going to take you out for a drive now, before luncheon. The car is still at the door.” Ten minutes later, Betty took her seat beside the old lady, and the car glided out of the quiet street into a busy thoroughfare. It was a lovely spring day, and she was glad to be out of doors in a part of London more or less new to her. She was also very curious about what Godmother had recently hinted, though she scarcely liked to question her on the subject. [Illustration] They were passing Westminster Abbey now, and nodding toward it Godmother said: “You don’t call _that_ ugly?” Before Betty could answer, they had reached the end of Westminster Bridge and turned on to the Embankment. Raised on the end parapet of the bridge, was a group of statues in which the chief figure was a woman in flowing robes furiously driving a strange-looking chariot. “Do you know what that represents?” asked Godmother, when she saw Betty glance at the monument with interest. “It’s Queen Boadicea driving into battle. I only want you just to remember her name, because you may hear something about her later.” Again Godmother’s voice was mysterious, and Betty glanced at her, with more curiosity than ever. It was delightful to be driving by the side of the river with the spring sunlight sparkling on the water, but she wondered where they were going.