enrede. "I don't see how we could get her all this way
unless we hired a pony."

"Or borrowed an aeroplane. One seems about as possible as the other,"
grunted Ingred.

"She shall have a photo of the stones at any rate," said Hereward,
fingering his camera. "Hurry up and finish, you girls, or the light will
be gone!"

"Well, we can't bolt our sandwiches at the rate you do! I wonder you
don't choke!"

The old gray stones stood in a circle on the top of the hill, from
whence they had possibly seen four thousand summers and winters pass by.
Whether their original purpose was temple, astronomical observatory, or
both is one of the riddles of antiquarian research, for neolithic man
left no record of his doings beyond the weapons buried with him in his
barrow. Legend, however, like a busy gossip, had stepped in and supplied
points upon which history was silent. Traditions of the neighborhood
explained the menhirs as twelve giants turned into stone by the magic
powers of good King Arthur, who, in defiance of the claims of the isle
of Avalon, was supposed to be buried in a hitherto unexplored chamber of
the large green mound that stood near. Sometimes, so the story ran, the
giants whispered to one another, and any one who came there alone at
daybreak on May morning might glean much useful information regarding
the personal appearance of his or her future lover. As it was obviously
difficult to reach so out-of-the-way a spot at such a very early hour,
the oracles were seldom consulted at the one and only moment when they
were supposed to whisper. There were reputed, however, to be other and
easier means of gleaning knowledge from them. Ingred, who had been
priming herself with local lore, confided details of the occult
ceremonial to Quenrede.

"It sounds rather thrillsome!" admitted that damsel doubtfully. "I'd
really like to try it, only the boys would tease me to death. You know
what they are!"

"They're going over there to photograph the cromlech. You'd have time
before they come back."

"Shall I?"

"Go on!"

"Tell me again what to do."

"You let your hair down, and walk bareheaded in and out and in and out
round all the circle of stones. Then you put an offering of flowers on
that biggest stone--the Giant King, he's called--and throw a pebble into
the little pool below. You count the bubbles that come up--one for A,
two for B, &c.,--and they'll give you the initial of your future lover.
With _very_ great luck,