“That was young James of Scotland, whom Henry V caused to be captured in time of truce, and thrown into prison at Windsor, where he remained almost twenty years. The English treated him kindly, however, and he spent his time in studying and watching the lady in the garden, who afterwards became his queen.”
“Oh! But, really, the stables are best of all!” exclaimed Philip, who loved horses like a true Briton. “I do like to go there and be shown about by one of those men in the black suits and yellow vests, and the bright cockades in their silk hats. Once when I was little, one of them let me go into a stall and feed some sugar to a splendid great horse named Black Beauty. I wished I could do it to-day, too! All the carriages which carry the Court ladies are stupid, I think, but the horses and ponies are jolly!” whereupon Philip and John went off into an animated discussion about the horses of the Royal Stables, and how much they envied the men who cared for them.
“Oh, what a sweet little village!” cried Betty, jumping up excitedly, as the automobile slowed down and entered a little narrow lane.
Chalfont St. Giles is an extremely picturesque, old-time village. Its thatched-roofed cottages huddle together in a beautiful green valley, and about the edge of a pond where ducks swim, and happy, barefooted children play. One of the old houses is a place of interest to many, as the great poet, John Milton, lived there after he fled from London at the time of the plague.
The poet’s home is a most primitive cottage with low ceilings, and a little dark room, lighted by one casement window, in which he may have written part of “Paradise Lost.” When standing in that chamber, one is reminded of the well-known picture which shows the blind Milton dictating one of his poems to a daughter. Outside is a delightful old-fashioned garden in which the largest and reddest of poppies grow, and where it is said that Milton loved to linger.
“I wish we needn’t hurry,” sighed Mrs. Pitt, “but I’m afraid we’ll be late to dinner. See, we are short of time already!”
So they quickly took their seats again for the short trip back to town, and drew their wraps about them, as the air had grown chilly. They all felt rather tired, and were silent as they reviewed in mind the history and scenes of Windsor Castle, one of the most beautiful and certainly the most famous of English royal residences.
John Milton lived there after he fled from London.—Page [105].