bell continued to toll, though, as he noticed then, in a strange
way, with a queer muffled sound that aroused no echo.

Richard then crept forward to see what was happening. Peering cautiously
through one of the windows, he was at first unable to distinguish
anything, although a strange light illuminated the whole church. But
after a few moments he was able to discern a funeral procession moving
slowly up the centre aisle. It consisted of the little people, crowds of
whom filled the church. Each piskie looked very sad, although, instead
of being dressed in mourning, each carried a gay wreath or garland of
roses or myrtle.

Presently the watcher beheld a bier borne by six piskies, and on it was
the body--no bigger than a small doll, he said--of a beautiful lady.
The mournful procession moved forward to the sanctuary, where Richard
observed two tiny figures digging a wee grave quite close to the altar
table. When they had completed their task, the whole company crowded
around while the pale, lovely corpse was gently lowered into the earth.

At this moment all the piskies burst into the saddest notes of
lamentation, tearing their wreaths and garlands asunder and casting the
flowers into the grave. Then one of the midget grave-diggers threw in a
shovelful of earth and the most piteous cry of sorrow went up from the
small folk, who wailed, "Our Queen is dead! Our Queen is dead!"

Old Richard was so much affected by this that he joined in the cry of
lamentation. But no sooner was his voice heard than all the lights were
extinguished and the piskies fled in consternation in every direction.
Richard himself was so much alarmed that he ran for his home, firmly
convinced that he was fortunate to have escaped with his life.

Lelant Church and the sand-hills remain to-day much as they were on that
long-ago midnight when Richard attended the piskie's funeral, but
nowadays the country round about has become one of the most favoured, by
visitors, in all Cornwall.

Lelant with its golf course, pretty Carbis Bay with its wonderful bathing
beach, and St. Ives, beloved of artists and those in search of rest
and health, a few miles further on, are all places that exercise the
strongest fascination for those who have once visited them. The district
is singularly attractive to the tourist; wild, rugged coast or grim
moorland scenery is to be found within easy walking distance, while
nestling in between the forbidding cliffs are pleasant