But Mrs. Maitland had sons of her own at home about Arthur’s age, and she knew something about boys and their ways, so that by the time they reached the Paddington Station they were very good friends. Arthur did not at all object to her helping him to get a cab that was to take him to Leicester Lodge, in Kensington.
Indeed, he was obliged to confess to himself, when he found himself alone in the hansom cab that his friend had found for him, that it was very well she had been with him, for when he was standing on the platform, with the din and bustle around him, and the many people stirring in the vast station, he had felt quite bewildered. He had never been in London before, and this was the longest journey he had taken.
It was a very curious feeling that he had when he found himself alone in the cab: at first he could not get quite over the feeling that it was not safe; it seemed to him that it would be so very easy for the driver to go away and leave the horse to take him wherever he liked amongst the crowds of people, and cabs, and omnibuses.
You may be sure that he looked about him well, as they whirled along through street after street, skirting the park and the palace-like houses. He had to guess the names of the places they were passing through, and I dare say some of his guesses would have amused you very much indeed. He was quite sure a hotel that he passed was somebody’s palace, perhaps the Lord Chancellor’s. He did not think it could be Her Majesty’s, because there were no soldiers.
It was quite dark by the time the cab drove up outside Leicester Lodge, and lights were shining above the shutters of the dining and drawing-room windows. The dim light enabled Arthur to see that it was a large house with a small piece of garden-ground in front, and one or two leafless trees, which gave it rather a dreary look.
It was not very long before he found himself standing inside the hall door with his portmanteau. The servant showed him into a small ante-room, and said he would tell the young ladies. Arthur had a curious feeling of not being expected, although he knew he must be, as his aunt had written to Mrs. North the day before.
This was not a very quiet and orderly household evidently; there were traces of that in the room where he was sitting, and he could hear noises on the stairs and in the room overhead that might say the same. Presently there was a scuffling noise in the hall, and after a little while the door was burst quickly open, and more than one curly head peeped in, and was as quickly drawn back, and Arthur could hear a little girl’s voice say, “Oh, Gerald, it was you made me do it; you know it was!”
Arthur felt rather inclined to run out, and see who was there; but he thought it would be better to wait until some older person came.
By and by the door opened again, more quietly this time, and a young lady came into the room. She had a kind look on her face, as she held out her hand to Arthur, and said—
“I am so sorry you have been left here alone; but I could not leave the baby, my youngest brother. Won’t you come upstairs to your room?”