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“I generally hate Museums,” said Betty frankly. “But then I’ve never been to one with you before.”

“You won’t hate this one,” was Godmother’s reply. They were driving down St. James’s Street now, and in a few moments the car stopped before a stately-looking house quite near to the old Palace of St. James.

“Now,” said Godmother, as they went up the steps, “the way to see Museums is to look at a very little at a time, so, though this place is full of interesting things, I’m only going to show you one or two of them. First of all, we go downstairs into the basement.”

Betty followed her to the left of an entrance hall from which a grand staircase rose, into a corridor whose windows gave her a glimpse of a pretty green garden; then down a flight of steps into a big hall below. The floor of this had been hollowed out to look rather like a swimming-bath, but instead of water, the hollow was filled up by the skeleton of a great wooden boat. It was black with age, broken and battered, but the pieces had been carefully fitted together, so that one might at least guess how it looked more than a thousand years ago, when it was new. “It’s a Roman galley!” cried Betty, who had recently seen one, not ancient and decayed, but actually floating upon the Thames. In her excitement she scarcely knew whether to look first at the ancient boat, or at the picture which filled the end wall just above it, and showed a galley rowed by Roman soldiers.