“Oh, dear, yes; haven’t you?”
“I live here,” said the minister, rather discomposed by this exceedingly cool child.
“I wish I did!” sighed Wiggins. “I hate Kensington.”
“Ah, that’s London! I’ve never been there,” said the minister simply. “I wish I had.”
“It’s not a very nice place. There’s gardens and busses, and sometimes we ride in a hansom, and you always have to wear your shoes and generally gloves, it’s beastly.” Wiggins spoke bitterly, as one who had tasted the hollow shams of Kensington.
The minister sat down on the sand.
“Isn’t there a museum there, and an Art Gallery?” he asked.
“Oh, yes, but you mayn’t touch anything, and you have to wear your hat!”
“You seem to object to clothing,” remarked the minister.
“Don’t you?” responded this discomposing child.