take them. The carriage would drive them as far as the Strand, then the journey was continued on foot citywards.
Everything here was new-I can't say fresh, for there is precious little freshness about London streets-to the Scotch lads. They could have wished, however, that the pavements had been less crowded, that the people had been less lazy-looking, and that the vendors of penny wares had not thrust their unsavoury hands so often right under their noses.
Frank seemed determined to show his 42nd cousins every phase of London life. He even took them into a corner drink-palace, and there ordered lemonade, just that they might see a little of the dark side of city life.
They were horrified to behold those gin-sodden men and women, many leaning almost helplessly against the counter; the patched and semi-dropsical faces of the females, the maudlin idiotic looks of the males, Duncan thought he never could forget.
He shuddered, and felt relieved when out once more in the crowded streets.
One day Frank thought he would give his cousins a special treat, so he took them to the Zoo.
Both were much interested in beholding the larger wild beasts, the lions of Africa, the splendid tigers of India, the sulky hippopotami, and ill-natured-looking rhinoceroses. But it was a sad sight after all, for these half-starved-looking beasts were deprived of the freedom of forest and plains, and confined here in filthy dens, all for the pleasure of a gaping crowd of ignorant Cockneys.
But when they came upon the birds of prey, and their eyes caught sight of a poor puny specimen of the Scottish eagle, chained to a post, and almost destitute of feathers, Duncan's heart melted with shame and sorrow, and he turned hurriedly away.
As far as the Zoo was concerned, Frank's best intentions had failed to give his guests pleasure. But they were too polite to say so.
Duncan and Conal had now been two months in London, and could understand even what the street boys said. On the whole they had enjoyed the wonderful sights of this wonderful city, for these really seemed unending.
Then came Christmas.
Christmas and the pantomime.
They enjoyed Drury Lane far more even than the parties or even the dances they were invited to. The scenery and scenes were exquisitely lovely. No dream of fairyland ever equalled these.
The boys gave themselves wholly up to amusement throughout all the festive season. But to their credit be it said, they did not gorge on goose, turkey, or pudding as everybody else did.
"No wonder," thought Duncan, "that the Englishman is called John Guttle in many parts of Scotland." For he had never seen such eating or drinking in his life before.
Then after the festivities of the festive week came dulness and dreariness extreme. The people had spent all their money, and wretchedness abounded on every pavement of the sleet-swept streets of the city. Yes, and the misery even overflowed into the west-end suburbs.
It was about this time that Duncan made a discovery.
Frank had told him, frankly enough, that his father was not over-well off, but it was evident to him now that Colonel Trelawney was simply struggling to keep up appearances, and that, in all probability, he was deeply in debt.
Mrs. Trelawney, or "dear Auntie", as the Scotch lads called her, was ever the same. Nothing seemed to trouble or worry her.
But the colonel at breakfast used to take up his letters, one by one, and eye them with some degree of suspicion before opening them.
The waste-paper basket was close to him, and was wonderfully handy.
"The first application," he would say with a smile as he tore up a bill and summarily disposed of the fragments.
"Second application" – that too was torn up.
Letter from a friend-put aside to be read at leisure.
A long blue letter-suspicious-disposed of without reading.
"Ha! Amy, love, here is Sweater & Co.'s fourth letter. Threatens us with-ah, you know."
"Well, dear," says Mrs. Trelawney with her sweetest smile, "just let them sweat!"
"Give 'em a bill, I suppose," the colonel says, as if speaking to himself.
And the letter is put aside.
So one way or another Trelawney got through his pile at last, and settled down to serious eating, that is, he made a hearty meal from a Londoner's point of view. Then he lit a cigarette.
Well the month of January was raw and disagreeable, and seldom was there a day without a fog either white or yellow.
Is it any wonder that, brought up in a clear transparent atmosphere among breezes that blew over heathy hills, and were laden with the balsamic odour of the pine-trees, Duncan and Conal began to languish and long for home.
With great candour they told "Auntie" they wanted to get home to enjoy skating, tobogganing, and white-hare shooting; and she promised to speak to the colonel.
"We will be so sorry to leave you, auntie, for you've been so good to us."
"And I shall miss you, boys, sadly."
"Yes, I hope so. It will give Conal and me pleasure to think that you like us. And of course Frank comes with us."
"I fear it is too cold for Frank."
"Oh no, auntie dear. One never feels cold in Scotland, the air is so bracing, you know."
So that very day it was all arranged, and Laird M'Vayne had a letter to that effect.
The parting was somewhat sorrowful, but the boys did not say "Farewell!" only "Au revoir", because both hoped to return, and by that time they declared that Frank would be as hardy as-as-well, as hardy as Highlanders usually are.
The last things that the boys bought in London were skates. Of course they could have got those in Edinburgh, but not so cheaply, and for this reason: there did not seem to be the ghost of a chance of any skating for the Londoners this season, and so they got the skates for an old song.
They went by sea to Edinburgh. The Queen was at present all but a cargo-boat, and besides the three lads and Vike, there was only one other passenger, an old minister of the Church of Scotland.
The same skipper and the same mate, and delighted they were to see the boys again, and they gave Frank a right hearty welcome on their account.
But Frank had that with him which secured him a welcome wherever he went-his fiddle, and when after dinner he played them some sad and plaintive old Scottish airs, all were delighted, and the minister got up from his chair, and, grasping the boy's hand, thanked him most effusively.
"Dear lad," he said, "you have brought the moisture to my eyes, although I had thought my fountain of tears had dried up many and many a long year ago."
Now here is something strange; although, when once fairly out of the Thames' mouth and at sea, it was blowing a head wind, with waves houses high, Frank was not even squeamish. I have seen many cases like this, though I must confess they are somewhat rare.
Nor was the minister ill; but then, like the Scotch boys, he was sea-fast, having done quite a deal of coasting.
