Still lost in wonder, Madeline alighted from the train, and, clutching Uncle Luke’s hand, moved along with the crowd that was surging out of the station.

Once outside, amidst the din of rattling cabs and excited passengers, Uncle Luke seemed perplexed what to do next. He took off his high hat, and scratched his head; and this appeared to remind him that he had a paper carefully tucked into the hat’s lining. So he searched for and found the paper, on which was written, in a round, clear hand—

Marmaduke White, Esq.,

The Den,

Willowtree Road,

St. John’s Wood.

In his perplexity he turned to a policeman, and, with his usual grin, showed him the paper. The policeman, who happened to be good-natured, informed him that he must walk across London Bridge, and make the best of his way to the Bank, where he would get an omnibus which would take him straight to his destination.

‘When you get to the Bank, look for a “City Hatlas”—you’ll see “City Hatlas” written on the outside. You can’t go wrong.5

Thus instructed, Uncle Luke toddled off as fast as his legs could carry him, and was swept along with the traffic that sets all day from London Bridge Station over the great Bridge. Madeline clung to him in amazement and terror, with her great wistful eyes wide in wonder.

As they passed over the bridge and saw the river gleaming, she uttered a cry, and would have stopped to gaze, but her Uncle pulled her along, being far too excited for explanation or conversation.

In due time they reached the Bank; and now a fresh perplexity occurred, for the little man had quite forgotten the policeman’s directions. Madeline, however, remembered, and spying an omnibus labelled ‘City Atlas’ hurried him towards it.

He showed his paper to the conductor.

‘All right,’ said that worthy; ‘jump in.’

And soon they were well afloat in the great stream of London, with the waters roaring and mingling and crying around them. Madeline gazed out, and her wonder deepened as she saw the great shining shops, and the innumerable horses and vehicles, and the people ever coming and going, like waves of a sea. She thought it beautiful, a kind of terrible Fairyland, and it would have given her perfect pleasure if her heart had not been so full of a great grief. For the time being, indeed, she almost forgot her childish trouble in the strange new sense of a vast and troubled world, of whose mysterious motions she had never dreamed.

It was a long ride, but it seemed only to occupy a few minutes. Uncle Luke was silent, crushed by his sorrow and by the situation; he held her hand tight, and fixed his poor sad eyes on vacancy, seeing and hearing nothing, only conscious that he had a task to perform, and determined, though his heart should break, that he would perform it to the end.

At last they left the long thoroughfares behind and came out into a region comparatively green and countrified, with villas of all tastes and sizes ranged on either side of the road. Here the omnibus stopped, and the conductor told Uncle Luke to alight, announcing that they were at the corner of Willowtree Road, and that the address written on the paper must be close by. So Uncle Luke alighted with Madeline, paid their fare, and stood hesitating, while the omnibus rolled away.

Willowtree Road consisted, from end to end, of detached and semi-detached villas, only variegated at two of the corners by public-houses. It was very quiet and suburban, and as all the trees in the gardens were already green, and many of them in flower, it looked quite rural and bright.

Paper in hand Uncle Luke trotted up and down for some time, in a vain search for the house he sought. The road was quite deserted, and there was no one whom he could consult. At last he came against a telegraph boy, sauntering along and whistling in the leisurely manner of those swift Mercuries of the period.

‘I’ve just come from there,’ said Mercury, after inspecting the paper. ‘You see that house with the verander? Well, you don’t go up the front steps, but walk round to the side, and you’ll see a bell marked “Stoodio”; ring that, and ask for Mr. White.’

Thus directed, Uncle Luke approached the house, a small, semi-detached villa, and passing round, as directed, to the side, discovered with some little difficulty the bell in question. Without any hesitation, he rang. Scarcely had he done so, when the door opened as it were of its own accord, and he found himself in a dilapidated garden, face to face with a small building which looked like a diminutive Methodist chapel. Approaching the door of this edifice, he was about to knock, when his eyes fell upon a paper pasted upon it. On this paper was printed rather than written these words—

Mr. White out of town. Back this day week.

With Madeline’s aid Uncle Luke spelt out the inscription, and it filled him with complete consternation. There being no date to the announcement, ‘this day week’ was curiously indefinite, particularly as the paper showed signs of having been there for a considerable time already. While he stood gaping and scratching his head the studio door suddenly opened, and a very small boy with a very old face, clad in a very dirty page’s uniform, made his appearance.

‘Well, what is it’ cried this worthy, snappishly.

‘Who do you want?’

Uncle Luke took off his hat respectfully, and handed over the paper. Strange to say, the boy would not deign to inspect it.

‘If it’s the milk bill, you’re to call again next week. If it’s a summons, nobody ain’t at home. Which of the gents is it for?’

‘I’m a-looking for Master White,’ said Uncle Luke, timidly, ‘and if you............