First to London and crossing Waterloo Bridge.   

A bright clear morning. Thence to Russell Squarewhere a London pigeon wandered by a green door.  

The Foundling Museum was fascinating and a mixture of happy and sad. What stories here. What names!

    Each one an invitation to imagine their tale.Such bleak little black beds.  A menu rather heavy on bread and milk – in the days when so many children had nothing.   Babies held by older foundlings on their christening day.
  A dancing sprite on Oxford Street
 And flowers at Liberty ‘s.