hat if Sir Walter Scott could visit
Stratford again he would be permitted to break the rule.

They stood in the bedroom where Shakespeare was born, and where his
father and mother probably died; and they looked into the garden where
he used to play; and Horace very mischievously pointed out the
fireplace in the kitchen where, as he told Hester, they cooked their
bacon.

Mrs. Avory was then informed of the mean attacks on Shakespeare which
Horace had made in the church, and their complete refutation by the old
man, whose judgment she upheld.

"Horace," she said, "oughtn't to be here at all. He ought to be at St.
Albans. We will look up the trains when we get back to the hotel."

Horace was not quite certain whether this was serious or not. "Why St.
Albans?" he asked.

"Because that is where your friend Bacon lived," said Mrs. Avory.

The next place to visit was the Memorial, which is a very ugly building
by the river, where the Festival is held every spring. This is not very
interesting to children, being given up to books and pictures connected
with the stage; but close by are the steps leading to the boats, each
of which has a Shakespearian name, and Mrs. Avory allowed them to row
about for an hour before lunch. This they did, Robert and Mary and
Horace and Hester in the _Hermione_, and Janet and Gregory and Jack in
the _Rosalind._

After lunch, while they were waiting about in the hall looking at the
pictures, and not quite sure what to do, Mr. Imber of Philadelphia
approached them. "I wonder," he said, "if you would do me a favour. I
have scores of nephews and nieces, and also many friends, in America,
to whom I want to send picture postcards. Now," he continued, "listen
here. Here's seven shillings, one for each of you; and here's a
five-shilling piece. Now I am going to give you each a shilling to buy
picture post cards with, and I want you each to buy them separately--in
different shops if you like--and then bring them back to me, and I'll
give the five-shilling piece to the one who has what I think the best
collection. Now off you go."

So they hurried off. Stratford-on-Avon, I may tell you, exists almost
entirely on the sale of picture postcards and Shakespeare relics, and
there was therefore no difficulty in finding seven shops, each with a
first-class assortment.

In this way an hour went very pleasantly, and then the results were
laid before the old gentleman. Of course, there were many duplicates,