There was an idea abroad that to tunnel under the Park would drain the soil of all natural moisture, and even that the roots of the trees would be affected. Whatever reasons there might be against the project, I felt sure that this danger was exaggerated. Looking at the plane trees and the catalpas by the Houses of Parliament, it was evident that the underground railway had done them no harm. I went to Kew in order to consult Sir Joseph Hooker as to the maximum depth to which the roots of trees reach. He told me that very little was understood upon the subject, and he knew of no authoritative writer to whom he could refer me. However, after some search he unearthed a French pamphlet which was full of interest. From this it appeared that in proportion to its height wheat is probably the plant which sends down the deepest roots; this would account for the prosperity of the plant in dry seasons when other crops fail. Of trees the vine was said to be the deepest; as a denizen of the limestone rocks its roots have to travel far, piercing through chinks and crannies in order to seek water. This was interesting, because it showed that possibly the old story that the great vine at Hampton Court sends its roots out all the way to the Thames may be true. Since that time a tree closely allied to the laburnum was discovered in India, which sent its roots so deep that they broke off in a deep well long before their ends were found. In any case it was clear that the roots of the trees in Hyde Park, all of which are very shallow, would not be affected. But this is a mere parenthesis. I arrived at Ballater in the afternoon of the 12th of November, prepared to take a room at the inn and go on to Balmoral after a bath. However, at the station I found a carriage and a footman with a note saying that I was to go on and sleep at Balmoral. It was bitterly cold and snowing heavily, but when I reached the Castle a second note from Sir Henry Ponsonby was awaiting me. “Please go to your room, order tea and make yourself comfortable. We are off to a picnic.” It was real Queen’s weather, for she loved the cold, as I well knew, for whenever we had to prepare for any ceremony at which she was to be present, we had to watch the thermometer jealously. As for me, I sat huddled up, dozing over the fire, thinking that if I were a polar bear I might possibly enjoy such weather, when, after a couple of hours, Sir Henry Ponsonby came in looking frozen. We had a little talk while he thawed and then he left me. Presently there came a knock at the door and a page announced, “Mr. Mitford is to dine with the Queen this evening.”