The streets were wide and hard and very clean. There were no horses, but a sort of motor carriage that made no noise. The Thames flowed between green banks, and there were trees at the edge, and people sat under them, fishing, for the stream was clear as crystal. Everywhere there were green trees and there was no smoke. The houses were set in what seemed like one green garden. The little boy brought them to a house, and at the window was a good, bright mother-face. The little boy rushed in, and through the window they could see him hugging his mother, then his eager lips moving and his quick hands pointing. A lady in soft green clothes came out, spoke kindly to them, and took them into the oddest house they had ever seen. It was very bare, there were no ornaments, and yet every single thing was beautiful, from the dresser with its rows of bright china, to the thick squares of Eastern-looking carpet on the floors. I can’t describe that house; I haven’t the time. And I haven’t heart either, when I think how different it was from our houses. The lady took them all over it. The oddest thing of all was the big room in the middle. It had padded walls and a soft, thick carpet, and all the chairs and tables were padded. There wasn’t a single thing in it that anyone could hurt itself with. “What ever’s this for?—lunatics?” asked Cyril. The lady looked very shocked. “No! It’s for the children, of course,” she said. “Don’t tell me that in your country there are no children’s rooms.” “There are nurseries,” said Anthea doubtfully, “but the furniture’s all cornery and hard, like other rooms.” “How shocking!” said the lady; “you must be _very_ much behind the times in your country! Why, the children are more than half of the people; it’s not much to have one room where they can have a good time and not hurt themselves.” “But there’s no fireplace,” said Anthea. “Hot-air pipes, of course,” said the lady. “Why, how could you have a fire in a nursery? A child might get burned.” “In our country,” said Robert suddenly, “more than 3,000 children are burned to death every year. Father told me,” he added, as if apologizing for this piece of information, “once when I’d been playing with fire.” The lady turned quite pale. “What a frightful place you must live in!” she said. “What’s all the furniture padded for?” Anthea asked, hastily turning the subject. “Why, you couldn’t have little tots of two or three running about in rooms where the things were hard and sharp! They might hurt themselves.” Robert fingered the scar on his forehead where he had hit it against the nursery fender when he was little. “But does everyone have rooms like this, poor people and all?” asked Anthea. “There’s a room like this wherever there’s a child, of course,” said the lady. “How refreshingly ignorant you are!—no, I don’t mean ignorant, my dear. Of course, you’re awfully well up in ancient History. But I see you haven’t done your Duties of Citizenship Course yet.”