cipal actor,
the tree.

In the abbot's kitchen we get into the huge hooded fireplace--seven
of us--and there is room for more. We look up the chimney and see
the glossy green ivy leaves overhead, and the blue sky shining beyond
them. We toss a pebble down into the subterranean passage where, they
say, the monks were wont to pass out after provisions during a time
of siege; which must have been somewhat demoralizing to the besiegers,
whoever they were. I stoop to pick up something in the grass of
the kitchen floor, which has a glitter of gold upon it, and my face
flushes with eager anticipation as I seize it.

"What have you found?" asks Amy.

"A relic of the monks?" asks Bunker.

"It's a champagne cork," I am forced to reply. "The truth is, Netley
Abbey is a show, like Niagara Falls and Bunker Hill Monument. Of
course crowds of tourists come here, and of course they pop champagne
and ginger beer, and cut their confounded initials in the venerable
stones."

"Yes," says Bunker, "I saw 'W.S.' cut in the wall at the top of the
turret stairs. Saves you the trouble, you know."

"I don't do that sort of thing, thank you."

Nevertheless, it was curious to see some nobody's name cut at full
length in the stone, with the date underneath--1770.

When we return to the hotel the night porter reports that he has not
found my umbrella. So I must go off without it. Our train leaves at
ten minutes past five this afternoon, and we shall be in London early
in the evening. It is now four o'clock: we have ordered dinner for
this hour, and so we sit down to our soup.

"Please give us our dinner without any delay now," I say to the
pompous head-waiter, "for we must take the train at ten minutes past
five."

The man bows stiffly and retires. We finish the soup, and wait.
When we get tired of waiting we call the head-waiter to us: "Are you
hastening our dinner?"

"Fish directly, sir," he answers, and walks solemnly away. We begin to
grow fidgety. Fifteen minutes since the soup, and no fish yet. Bunker
swears he'll blow the head-waiter up in another minute. Just as he is
quite ready for this explosion the fish arrives. All hail! I lay it
open.

"Why, it's not done!" I cry in consternation. "There, there! Take it
away, and bring the meat."

With an air of grave offence the man bears it solemnly out. Then we
wait again. And wait. And wait.

"Good gracious!" cries Bunker, "here's half an hour gone, and we've
had nothing but sou