d to have you act as
guide."

This the young man did, and to such good effect that the girls and Phil
were soon hanging on every word.

The magnificent choir held for them especial interest, for it was there
had taken place the gorgeous coronations of the kings of England from the
time of Harold.

"It seems like a fairy tale, anyway," said Jessie, wide-eyed and
pink-cheeked. "Why, to think of all the great monarchs of
England--Richard the Third and Henry the Eighth and Queen
Elizabeth--actually being crowned on this spot! Why, it is the next best
thing to seeing the coronation itself!"

From there the party passed into the north transept, where lay, for the
most part, the great statesmen and warriors of England.

But it was in the south transept, in the poets' corner, where were
erected memorials of the great English writers, that our party was most
interested. Chaucer, Shakespeare, Thackeray, Dickens--magic names, names
to conjure with!

Their English guide grew more eloquent and his face flushed with pride as
he went into eulogies of these great men who had made England famous in
the literary world.

They lingered longer over Dickens' tomb, visioning the man who, by the
far-reaching genius of his pen, could sway multitudes to laughter or
tears at will.

"And it is to Dickens, largely, that we owe the marvelous improvement in
social conditions among the lower classes," the young man finished. "If
it had not been for the boldness of his pen, we might still be going
blithely along, blind to the miserable, unjust conditions that so
prevailed among the poor of his time."

And so the afternoon wore blissfully on, till Mr. Payton drew out his
watch and four pairs of eager young eyes followed the action fearfully.

"It can't be late, Dad," from Lucile.

"After six," said Mr. Payton, and they groaned in unison. "I'm as sorry
as you young folks to tear myself away, but I'm afraid we've seen all we
can for to-day."

Slowly, and each step a protest against a necessity that demanded their
return so soon, the girls made their reluctant way to the door of the
cathedral.

Before they stepped into the waiting machine, our party turned for one
more look at the Abbey.

"Oh, Dad, did you ever see anything like it?" breathed Lucile.

"There _is_ nothing like it," her father answered, slowly. "It is
testimony in stone, a silent epitome of the glorious, stately,
romance-filled history of England!"

CHAPTER XVIII