ver existed are the pavement and steps, deeply worn by the
feet of many generations of devout pilgrims.

"I told you something of the splendor of this shrine," Mrs. Pitt
suggested to them. "It was said that after his visit to it, Erasmus
(the Dutch scholar and friend of Sir Thomas More, you know) in
describing it, told how 'gold was the meanest (poorest) thing to be
seen.' See, here is the tomb of Henry IV, the only king who is buried
here, and there's the monument to the Black Prince. Above hang his
gauntlets, helmet, coat, and shield. Do you see them, John?"

The northwest transept, so say all guidebooks and vergers (and they
certainly ought to be truthful), was the scene of the murder of the
Archbishop a Becket. There is even a stone in the floor which marks
the precise spot; but, contrary to her usual habit, Mrs. Pitt
absolutely pointed out that all this is false.

"I'm sorry, children," she said, "but I must contradict this. Becket
was killed at five o'clock on a dreary December afternoon of 1170.
Four years later, the cathedral was entirely destroyed by fire.
Therefore, it is not possible that they can show visitors the exact
spot where the tragedy took place. William of Sens came over from
France, and in 1184, finished the building which we now see.

"This nave," she continued, as they again entered it, "is one of the
longest in England, and the choir is several feet higher. Do you
notice? It is an unusual feature. Also, the fact that the walls bend
very gradually inward as they near the east end of the choir, is
worthy of note. Here, as at St. Paul's and a number of other
cathedrals, business was carried on, even during services, and
pack-horses and mules went trailing through. It's curious to think of,
isn't it?"

[Illustration: "WILLIAM OF SENS, IN 1184, FINISHED THE BUILDING WHICH
WE NOW SEE."--_Page 264._]

Canterbury's cloisters are wonderfully ancient. Blackened as they are
by the centuries, and their still exquisite carvings broken, yet here,
more than in the edifice itself, can one imagine the scene of Becket's
terrible death.

"The residence of the Archbishop stood alongside the church," Mrs.
Pitt proceeded, "and here the murderers came unarmed, upon their
arrival in the town, to interview him. Becket was unmoved by their
threats, so they left him to go and arm themselves. The entreaties of
the monks that their master should seek safety in the cathedral would
have been of no avail had not the h