seats behind the
driver. They had not noticed much about where they were going, for it
had all seemed a jumble of many lights, crowds of people, and noise.
But John had slipped a coin into the driver's hand, and there had been
a steady stream of stories from that moment. London bus-drivers have
plenty to tell, and are not at all loath to tell it--especially after
the encouragement of a tip. John was delighted to hear about the time,
one foggy Christmas Eve, when his friend had "sat for four hours, sir,
without daring to stir, at 'Yde Park Corner." John envied him the
splendid moment when the fog had finally lifted and disclosed the
great mass of traffic, which had been blinded and stalled for so long.

As John stood in front of the fire thinking it all over, he suddenly
exclaimed, "It was fun to hear that driver drop his h's; that was real
Cockney for you!"

Betty looked puzzled for a moment, and then said, "Wasn't it supposed
that only people who had been born within the sound of the bells of
old Bow Church could be real Cockneys?"

[Illustration: "DO YOU REMEMBER THOSE QUAINT LITTLE VERSES ABOUT BOW
BELLS?"--_Page 17._]

"That's right, Betty; your history is good," said Mrs. Pitt, who had
just entered; "but John, I must tell you that dropping h's is not
necessarily Cockney. The peculiar pronunciation of vowels is what
characterizes a true Cockney's speech, but many others drop h's--the
people of Shropshire for instance.

"Do you children remember those quaint little verses about Bow Bells?"
continued Mrs. Pitt. "In the days when Dick Whittington was a boy, and
worked at his trade in London, it was the custom to ring Bow Bells as
the signal for the end of the day's work, at eight o'clock in the
evening. One time, the boys found that the clerk was ringing the bells
too late, and indignant at such a thing, they sent the following
verses to him:

"'Clerke of the Bow Bells,
With the yellow lockes,
For thy late ringing,
Thou shalt have knockes.'

"The frightened man hastened to send this answer to the boys:

"'Children of Chepe,
Hold you all stille,
For you shall have Bow Bells
Rung at your wille.'"

"That was bright of them," commented John, as he rose to take off his
coat.

Philip and Barbara had long since thrown off their wraps and pulled
their chairs away from the fire, saying how warm they were. Even after
John had dispensed with his coat, Betty sat just