ill have her back in a jiffy," said Mr. Payton,
soothingly, but the frown on his forehead betrayed his own anxiety.

The gangplanks were lowered, and the people had already begun to surge
forward, and still no sign of either Lucile or Phil.

They eagerly searched the faces of the passers-by, nodding to some, yet
scarcely seeing them, while Mr. Payton began to mutter something about
"tying a string to that cyclonic young flyaway" when he got her back
again.

Five minutes passed. The deck was beginning to be emptied of people, and
they had begun to make their way slowly toward the gangplank, when Phil
came rushing up to them, very red and very much out of breath.

"Well?" they cried together, and Mr. Payton took him by the shoulder,
demanding, sternly, "Where is she?"

"Wouldn't it make you sick?" panted Phil, disgustedly. "Here I rush all
over the boat trying to locate her, and get everybody scared to death,
thinking she's fallen overboard or something, and then I find her down on
the float there, talking to the----"

"What?" interrupted Mr. Payton, incredulously.

"Yes. Isn't it the limit?" said Phil, fanning himself with his hat. "Said
she couldn't find her way back to you, so thought she'd wait with the
Applegates at the foot of the gangplank; said she knew you would find her
there."

The girls laughed hysterically, and even Mr. Payton's stern face relaxed;
the action was so truly "Lucilian."

"Well, I suppose all we can do is to follow," said Mr. Payton, and Mrs.
Payton added, pathetically, "I do wish Lucile would be a trifle less
impulsive now and then; it might save us a good deal of trouble."

Mr. Payton had felt inclined to read his "cyclonic" young daughter a
lecture, but the sight of her bright young face completely disarmed him,
and he could only breathe a prayer of thankfulness that she was safe.

They said good-by to Mr. and Mrs. Applegate and their very diminutive
daughter--whom somebody had fondly nicknamed "Puss"--and turned to follow
the crowd. A short time later they set foot for the first time on the
soil of the Old World.

"Where are we going, Dad, now that we're here?" asked Phil.

"To London, as fast as we can, by the train that connects with our
steamer," said his father. "Stick together, everybody--here we are," and
he hustled them before him into the long coach--for in England, you must
remember, trains are not made up of cars, but of "coaches."

By this time it was getting late,