“Well, cheer up, Betty; we’re going to Hampton Court Palace soon, and I guess that’ll suit you all right. Is this where we take the tram, Mrs. Pitt? There’s one coming now!” John ran out into the road and gesticulated frantically, so that the motorman would be sure to stop. That dignified English personage looked rather surprised, but John did not care. He liked to take the lead, and to make himself useful whenever it was possible.
The ride was not quite as enjoyable as they had hoped, because of a very high wind. Upon their perch at the top of the tram, it required about all their attention to keep their hats and other belongings from blowing away. On the whole, they were quite content to get off at the bridge at Richmond, and walk up the long hill to the famous Star and Garter Inn.
“This hill seems longer than ever to-day, Mother,” Barbara complained. “When we reach that lovely surprise view (you know where I mean), let’s sit down and admire it while we rest a bit.”
“Very well, we will,” her mother panted; “we’re nearly there now.”
The view to which Barbara and her mother referred proved to be really very beautiful. On one side of the hill is a little park from which a precipice descends to the river. Looking through an opening in the luxuriant foliage of the trees (an opening which takes the place of a picture-frame), one sees a glorious view of the green valley below, through which the lazy Thames winds dreamily; and if the day is clear, Windsor Castle may just be discerned in the distance.
“Philip, you and John go and engage one of those drivers over opposite the hotel, to take us for a little drive in the Park; as soon as I order our luncheon, I’ll be out again to go along.” With that, Mrs. Pitt disappeared for a few moments into the Star and Garter.
Richmond Park is a favorite resort for tourists, and driving and bicycle parties. It contains some fine old trees, and a great many deer which add to its attractiveness. Mrs. Pitt directed the coachman not to drive about much, however, but to show them two points of interest.
“This is the ‘King’s Mound,’” she observed, as the horses slowed down. “Yes, that little low mound of earth just this side of the clump of trees. I’ll admit that it looks uninteresting enough; but it is known as the spot where Henry VIII stood while listening for the sound of the gun at the Tower, which told him of the execution of Anne Boleyn.”
“Ugh!” Betty interposed, in disgusted tones, giving a little shudder. “Think how he must have felt! Horrid old thing!”
“Don’t be silly, Betty!” retorted John. “I guess a little thing like that wouldn’t trouble him!”