Over and over again, many a day and many a time, she had made Archie describe to her every room in the old farm; and his turret-chamber high up above the tall-spreading elm trees, where the rooks built and cawed in spring, and through which the wild winds of winter moaned and soughed when the leaves had fallen, was to Etheldene a veritable room in fairy-land.
"Oh," she said to-night, "how I should love it all! I do want to go to England, and I'll make father take me just once before I die."
"Before ye die, miss!" said Hurricane Bill. "Why it is funny to hear the likes o' you, with all the world before ye, talkin' about dying."
Well, by-and-by London was mentioned, and then it was Harry's turn. He was by no means sorry to have something to say.
"Shall I describe to you, Miss Winslow," he said, "some of the wild sights of Whitechapel?"
"Is it a dreadfully wild place, Mr. Brown?"
"It is rather; eh, Johnnie?"
"I don't know much about it, Harry."
"Well, there are slums near by there, miss, that no man with a black coat and an umbrella dare enter in daylight owing to the wild beasts. Then there are peelers."
"What are peelers? Monkeys?"