I was waiting in the lobby of the House of Commons for a friend of my father's who, I was informed later, was absent through illness, when Mr, Ramsay MacDonald appeared, and said he was going to Devon to speak. As I had never been in the Houses of Parliament he showed me over, saying if he hadn't been going away he would have given me an hour and tea on the terrace, In the House of Lords he told me to sit on that curious relic of Antiquity, the Woolsack. Tt was my first visit' to London, and little dia I think the future' British Prime Minister was my host. T called at his home in Lincoln's Inn. How quiet and quaint I thought the spot, like a restful desert in a great city. The flat was cosy and homelike to me, and Mrs. MacDonald, gentle, modest and dignified, just'as T remember her when having tea with my mother at our home. She was sad over the death of her little boy David. My parents had been to. "The Hillooks," his Lossiemouth home, to see the sorrowing parents who loved their children, and little David was a lovely boy. He was cremated. An old fisherwoman couldn't understand such a thing and said about Mrs. MacDonald, canna be richt, fin sh'burnt it bairn
Text read from the printed page and cleaned; old type leaves the occasional error.