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Updated: April 30, 2025
It was evident that they were not new arrivals, as were the other passengers, who studied them with the half-envious feelings with which new-comers at a summer resort are apt to regard those who seem to have been long established there, and who gathered from the scraps of conversation that they had merely been over to say good-by to friends leaving on the very train which brought in the rest of what we good Americans term "the 'bus-load."
He takes the reader by the hand, and he leads him away into the Middle Ages, and not a conventional study-built Middle Age, but a period quivering with life, full of folk who are as human and real as a 'bus-load in Oxford Street. He takes him through Holland, he shows him the painters, the dykes, the life. He leads him down the long line of the Rhine, the spinal marrow of Mediaeval Europe.
We got a 'bus that took us to King's Cross, and then changed into one that took us to the "Angel." Mr. James each time insisted on paying for all, saying that I had paid for the tickets and that was quite enough. We arrived at theatre, where, curiously enough, all our 'bus-load except an old woman with a basket seemed to be going in. I walked ahead and presented the tickets.
"O Warwick Hall, dear Warwick Hall, Thy happy hours we'll oft recall! No time or change can break thy tie, Though for awhile we say good-bye Good-bye! Good-bye!" AMID a flutter of handkerchiefs and a babel of parting cries, each 'bus-load of girls departed from the Hall to the station singing the farewell song of the school.
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