"If my father had lived, I know we should have been such friends,"
Malcolm would sigh to himself in his growing youth; and though his
mother never suspected it, he often looked at his father's portrait
that hung in her dressing-room, until his eyes were full of tears.
"If father had lived, I shouldn't have been so lonely and out of it
all," he would say as he turned away with a quivering lip.

Mrs. Herrick tried to do her duty by the boy; but she was a busy
woman, and had no leisure to devote to his amusement. The long
holidays were more pleasant in anticipation to both mother and son
than they proved in reality.

In the working hive at 27 Queen's Gate there seemed no place for the
restless, growing lad. His mother was always shut up in the library,
where she wrote her endless letters and reports and added up her
accounts, and Anna was with her governess.

Malcolm would be put in Anderson's charge, the steady, reliable
butler and factotum, and introduced to all the sights of London--
Westminster Abbey and St. Paul's, the Tower, and the British Museum,
the Zoological Gardens, and Madame Tussaud's. Sometimes they went to
Kew, or Richmond Park, or took the steamer to Hampton Court. The
nearest approach to dissipation was an afternoon spent with the
Christy Minstrels. Mrs. Herrick would not hear of the theatre; but
once, sad to relate, when Anderson was indisposed, and the footman,
a rather feeble-minded young man, had been sent with Malcolm to see
a panorama that was considered interesting and instructing, Malcolm,
by sundry bribes and many blandishments, had seduced his guardian
into accompanying him to Drury Lane, where they sat in the pit, side
by side, and watched with breathless interest the never-to-be-