and come into Cullerne, and took odd jobs till the sexton
fell sick, and then I helped dig graves; and when he died they made I
sexton, and that were forty years ago come Whitsun."

"Did Martin Joliffe keep on the farm after his father's death?" Westray
asked, after an interval of silence.

They had wandered along the length of the stalls as they talked, and
were passing through the stone screen which divides the minster into two
parts. The floor of the choir at Cullerne is higher by some feet than
that of the rest of the church, and when they stood on the steps which
led down into the nave, the great length of the transepts opened before
them on either side. The end of the north transept, on the outside of
which once stood the chapter-house and dormitories of the monastery, has
only three small lancet-windows high up in the wall, but at the south
end of the cross-piece there is no wall at all, for the whole space is
occupied by Abbot Vinnicomb's window, with its double transoms and
infinite subdivisions of tracery. Thus is produced a curious contrast,
for, while the light in the rest of the church is subdued to sadness by
the smallness of the windows, and while the north transept is the most
sombre part of all the building, the south transept, or Blandamer aisle,
is constantly in clear daylight. Moreover, while the nave is of the
Norman style, and the transepts and choir of the Early English, this
window is of the latest Perpendicular, complicated in its scheme, and
meretricious in the elaboration of its detail. The difference is so
great as to force itself upon the attention even of those entirely
unacquainted with architecture, and it has naturally more significance
for the professional eye. Westray stood a moment on the steps as he
repeated his question:

"Did Martin keep on the farm?"

"Ay, he kep' it on, but he never had his heart in it. Miss Phemie did
the work, and would have been a better farmer than her father, if Martin
had let her be; but he spent a penny for every ha'penny she made, till
all came to the hammer. Oxford puffed him up, and there was no one to
check him; so he must needs be a gentleman, and give himself all kinds
of airs, till people called him `Gentleman Joliffe,' and later on `Old
Neb'ly' when his mind was weaker. 'Twas that turned his brain," said
the sexton, pointing to the great window; "'twas the silver and green
what done it."

Westray looked up, and in the head of the ce