“It seems to me an admirable plan,” said Master Lewis. “I should be pleased with such a book myself.”
The next day the party visited Warwick Castle, one of the finest and best preserved of all the ancient country seats of the English nobility. To one approaching it, its rich lawns, its towering trees (of which some are from Lebanon), its picturesque windows, and harmony of design make it an ideal of castellated beauty.
The Class was ceremoniously admitted by men in livery, and was taken charge of by a portly and pompous Englishwoman, who wore a black silk that rustled as she swept along. She carried a bunch of keys at her side, and evidently entertained a high sense of the dignity of her position.
“This,” said the stately lady, pointing to an immense structure of armor, “this is the armor of the mighty Guy.”
“The mighty Guy!” said Tommy Toby, with large eyes, “will you please tell us who he was?”
The antique portress stared as though amazed at such a confession of ignorance.
“We are from America,” said Tommy.
Master Lewis smiled at being included in the uninstructed “we.”
“Guy was a giant.”
Tommy’s interest grew.