"There's the thrain an' there's the bus," said the policeman, to my surprise, in a brogue that might have walked out of Brandon village yesterday. "Can we get to it by way of Threadneedle Street?" asked the General, whose business lay that way. "Ye cud," said the giant with a genial smile that robbed the speech of any suggestion of impertinence, "just the same way as ye'd get to the spot I'm stannin' on be way av Chaney an' Americay. That is, ye'd be turnin' your back on it all the time till ye pulled up straight forenint it. Now, look here, sir," with a change of tone to one of the liveliest concern, "if I was you I wouldn't be putting her in them dirty thrains this fine day. 'Tis an elegant ride a-top o' the bus from Piccadilly Circus." "Is it too far for a cab ride?" said the General abruptly. "Not if yez have the money to pay for it. 'Tis half-a-crown be justice, three an' six be fairity." "We'll have the hansom, then," said the General. "Ye'll be makin' no mistake, sir," said the policeman, "an' here's the best horse on the rank just trottin' up in the nick of time." The General put me in carefully, and then pressed something into my hand. I looked down at the gold in my palm. "I ought to go with you by right, and would if I could, my dear," he said with a face that admitted of no denial. "Remember this little holiday is entirely my affair. Have you silver?" I said I had. "Well, then, hansom back; remember I shall have you on my mind till I see you again. But your sister will put you in a cab." The cab journey seemed to me interminably long, and yet there was no sign of green fields. At first our way lay through very fine streets, with beautiful shops, and crowded with such traffic as I had never dreamt of. I found the hansom more exhilarating than any form of progression I have ever known since I used to ride Pat Maloney's colt barebacked in the old days; and I felt very much excited about going to see Freda and her dear little boy. Despite an occasional qualm of doubt about Freda, my affection for her was as strong as ever, and from sheer excitement I felt myself turning hot and cold. Still, I thought it must be a long long way to Parson's Green yet, for we were now going through miles of mean little streets full of tiny pea-soup-coloured houses all exactly alike and indescribably monotonous. I was amusing myself by trying to discover what it was those wonderful costers were shouting, when suddenly the hansom pulled up before one of a hundred little houses, and the man shouted down on the top of my head: "Now, Miss, Magnoliar Cottage. 'Ere you are!" "Oh!" cried I, "are you quite sure? Is this Grove Avenue? It isn't at all the kind of place I meant. Are you quite sure this is Parson's Green?" "All right, Miss!" he replied stolidly, "Magnoliar Cottage, Grove Avenue, Parson's Green. See it wrote up there on the corner of the road."