where the saintly band rested on the way to Glastonbury. One trunk of
the famous tree was hewed down by a Puritan in Elizabeth's day (I'm
happy to tell you he lost a leg and an eye in the act), while the second
and only remaining one was destroyed by a "military saint" in the great
rebellion. "What disagreeable things saints have done!" exclaimed
Ellaline, which shocked Emily. "There have been very few _military_
ones, anyhow," my sister returned, mildly, with a slightly reproachful
glance at me, aimed at my spiritual failures. I cheered her up by
promising that I would get her a sprig of thorn at Wells, and telling
her how all the transplanted slips have the habit of blossoming on
Christmas Day, old style--January 6th, isn't it?

Our next "sight" was the museum in the Market Place; and you may take my
word for it, Pat, there's nothing much more interesting to be found the
world over, if you're interested in antiquities, as you and I are.
There's the Alfred jewel, which, of course, the women liked best; and
next in their estimation came the bronze mirrors, the queer pins and big
needles, the rouge pots and the hair curlers (which Emily gravely
pronounced to be curiously like Hinde's) of the Celtic beauties who
lived before the visits of those clever commercial travellers, the
Phoenicians. These relics were taken from the prehistoric village at
Godnet Marsh, discovered only about sixteen years ago, and they were
found with others far more important; for instance, a big, clumsy canoe
of black oak, which was soft as soap when it first came up out of its
hiding-place in the thick peat bog, but was hardened afterward by
various scientific tricks. I confess to more interest in the dice boxes
and dice, some of which the sly old Celtic foxes had loaded. Cheating
isn't precisely a modern device, it seems!

After the museum, I took the party to a jeweller's I'd heard of, and bought
some copies of the sacred treasures: a replica of the Alfred jewel; a
silver bowl, exactly imitating a bronze one from the lake village--probably
of Greek manufacture, brought over by Phoenicians--and other quaint
and interesting things. Ellaline is to have the jewel; the silver bowl
is to be a "sop" to Mrs. Senter; and for Emily is a tiny model oven,
such as the Phoenicians taught the Celts to make and Cornish cottagers
bake their bread in to this day.

There was the old Red Lion Inn to see, too, where Abbot Whiting lay the
night before his executio