When they went to bed, it was a long time before they could go to sleep. But being very tired, they did manage it, though they dreamed very queer things about a great many people, and horses and carts tumbling on the top of each other, with a noise like thunder.
The next morning, when they were having breakfast in a dark little parlour, their father said to their mother, "You and I must go and look about to day;" and to Donald he said, "You may take your two sisters for a walk on the Embankment, and show them the river, and the Temple, and Cleopatra's Needle, but be very careful of crossings, and ask a policeman when you don't know the way. Phyllis and Effie must stay at home, and amuse themselves with their dollies till our return."
At this Phyllis felt greatly injured, but she said nothing, for she knew she must obey.
Their mother went and fetched them some toys and books, and before she went out charged Martha, their little attendant, to do her best to amuse them; but Phyllis was not in a mood to be amused.
"Martha," she said, "it's horrid in here! Let's go in the garden."
"Lor, miss! there isn't such a thing."
Then Phyllis went and looked out of the window, but the air was so thick that she could see nothing but a few chimney-pots, and people moving like shadows in the street below.
Phyllis soon grew tired of the window. She wondered very much what Donald and her sisters were seeing, and how far off London was.
"Martha," she said presently, "we must go for a walk; of course we must. We always do at home."
"Oh, dear dear!" cried Martha, with something like a sniff, "I wouldn't do it for worlds. I'd lose my way for certain, and be run over in this dirty, foggy place."