greatly interest the party, however; that is, an old gnarled oak which
is called "Robin Hood's Larder."
"Ye see, 'e came 'ere to store 'is venison, and to 'ang it up to dry.
'E was a clever chap, 'e was. 'E 'id it inside the trunk." The driver
grinned from ear to ear, as he gave this valuable information.
Getting out to explore, the children found that the huge tree is
hollow, and propped up to postpone the sad day when it will surely
collapse altogether. Many old tree-trunks, all over Sherwood Forest,
are like this, and in some of them John could stretch his full length
upon the ground. Near "Robin Hood's Larder" is the spot where,
according to Scott, the outlaw met with King Richard of the Lion
Heart,--or, at least, so say the local guidebooks.
"Yes," said Mrs. Pitt, understanding at once; "don't you remember that
in Scott's 'Ivanhoe'? Another version of this famous meeting is in
Howard Pyle's book. King Richard was at Nottingham Town, you know, and
having a curious desire to meet with Robin Hood, he and his friends
went into Sherwood Forest, dressed as friars. Robin and his men found
them, of course, and made them guests at a feast. Later, there was
shooting, and Robin Hood, having once missed the mark, applied to the
King, whom he did not recognize, for a punishment. Thereupon King
Richard arose, rolled up his sleeve, and gave such a blow as Robin had
never felt before. It was afterwards that Sir Richard of the Lea
appeared upon the scene, and disclosed the identity of the powerful
stranger. Then Robin Hood, Little John, Will Scarlet, and Alan-a-Dale
followed the King to London at the royal wish, and left Sherwood for
many a long day."
They were now passing through a very dense part of the wood. Close
about the feet of the oaks, a thick, tangled underbrush grows. Some of
the old trees seem to be gray with age, and their whitish, twisted
branches offer a sharp contrast to the dark shadows, and make a weird,
ghostlike effect.
"Oh!" exclaimed Betty, "it must have been in just such a spot as this
in the forest that Gurth in 'Ivanhoe' suddenly came upon a company of
Robin Hood's men. Gurth was the Saxon, you know. He had been to Isaac,
the Jew, at York, and was carrying back the ransom money to his
master, Ivanhoe. Of course, poor Gurth thought he would surely be
robbed, when he discovered in whose society he was; but as you said,
Mrs. Pitt, Robin Hood never took money from honest men, especially
when it was not their own. They led Gurth farther and farther into the
depths of Sherwood. I can just imagine it was a place like
this,--where the moonlight lit up these ghostly trees, and the red
glow of the camp-fire showed Gurth's frightened face. He was quite
safe, though, for he proved that the money was his master's, and Robin
let him go, and even showed him the way to the 'skirts of the forest,'
as he did the Sheriff of Nottingham."
All this time the carriage had been rolling along, and as they neared
an open space in the forest, John suddenly caught sight of something
which made him turn to his friend, the driver, and exclaim: "Oh, what
are they?"
Stretching away for quite a distance on either side of the road were
rows and rows of tiny, peaked houses or coops. The coachman told them
that here was where they breed the pheasants which are hunted. When
the birds have reached a certain age, they are set free, and a gun is
fired in their midst to give them a taint of the wild. John was much
interested, in spite of the fact that he considered it "a mean trick."
It really does not seem quite fair to take excellent, kindly care of
any animal or bird, allow it to believe you are its friend, and then
to suddenly turn it loose and proceed to hunt it for mere sport.
In strange contrast to the merry drive through Sherwood Forest, was a
little incident which occurred in a village on the edge of "The
Dukeries" district, where they halted to water the horses. On one side
of the quaint main street is a row of old, old houses, where for many
years have lived the aged people who are usually provided for by the
nobleman to whom that village belongs.
All the tiny houses were empty at the time of this visit, with the
exception of one where lived a dear old lady, by herself, her
neighbors having all died. Mrs. Pitt went in to call upon her, as do
most strangers passing through here, and was touched by her pathetic
speech. She said they were simply waiting to tear down the houses
until she should go, and looking tearfully up into Mrs. Pitt's face,
added: "I'm eighty-six years old now, and I won't last much longer,
but I can't go until the Lord calls me, can I?" In spite of this, she
insisted that she was quite happy, for she had her "good feather
bed,"--and what more could she need?
The following morning, the party went by train to Nottingham, where
they spent a short time in exploring. The present town is much like
others, except in its legendary connection with Robin Hood. All
visitors might not find it as fascinating as did Mrs. Pitt and the
young people, who knew it as the abode of the disagreeable Sheriff
whom Robin Hood heartily hated, and upon whom he continually played so
many tricks, always evading punishment most successfully. They
pictured the gay procession of soldiers and knights which accompanied
King John when he entered that city, as the Sheriff's guest; and to
them the old market-square (the largest in all England) suggested the
scene of Robin Hood's masquerade as a butcher. There they halted and
imagined him standing beside his booth, and calling out: "Now who'll
buy? who'll buy? Four fixed prices have I. Three pennyworths of meat I
sell to a fat friar or priest for sixpence, for I want not their
custom; stout aldermen I charge threepence, for it doth not matter to
me whether they buy or not; to buxom dames I sell three pennyworths of
meat for one penny, for I like their custom well; but to the bonny
lass that hath a liking for a good tight butcher, I charge nought but
one fair kiss, for I like her custom the best of all."
"It was here in Nottingham that Will Stutely had his narrow escape,
wasn't it?" questioned Betty. "He was captured by the Sheriff's men
at 'Ye Blue Boar Inn,' and they brought him to town and would have
hanged him, if Robin Hood and his men hadn't arrived just in time to
save his life. Once Little John came to Nottingham Town and lived for
some time in the Sheriff's own castle, pretending to be the cook. My!
what lots of things happened here!"
Not far away are splendid Chatsworth House, one of the palaces of the
Duke of Devonshire, and lovely Haddon Hall, with its romantic story,
and both of these famous places received a visit from Mrs. Pitt and
her party.
Chatsworth, I am afraid, was not fully appreciated by our friends. It
has a most beautiful situation--in the valley of the Derwent, which
rushes along through the extensive park; the house itself is
magnificent--filled with fine marble halls and rooms, and costly
treasures of art; and in the gardens almost every sovereign of Europe
seems to have planted some kind of a tree. One curious thing did
wonderfully please the children's fancy; that is, a marvelous
weeping-willow tree, from the metal twigs and branches of which tiny
streams of water come at a sign from the gardener. But somehow, on the
whole, Chatsworth is cold and unfeeling, and failed to appeal to the
party.
Not so was it with Haddon Hall! The most prosaic summer tourist could
hardly fail to be moved by admiration of its delights. It is still a
real home, and seems alive with memories of the fair Dorothy Vernon
and her family. The old castle has scarcely changed at all since the
sixteenth century, and one feels as though the great lords and ladies
of Queen Elizabeth's time had thoughtfully stepped out on the terrace,
in order that we might wander through their noble old dwelling.
The custodian was having her afternoon-tea when the party arrived; she
did not think of hurrying in the slightest, but leisurely finished
this most important meal, and then received the visitors' fees and
allowed them to enter.
"I feel as though I had walked into a story!" remarked Betty quietly.
"Is Dorothy at home?"
The various buildings of Haddon Hall are built around two square
courts. The oldest bit is the ancient chapel, in part dating from
Norman times, and in which the Vernon family worshiped for four
hundred years. It still contains some old wooden pews, and traces of
grotesque paintings may be seen upon its walls.
"Where are we going now?" whispered Barbara, keeping close to Betty,
as the guide led them down a very dark passage, with an uneven stone
floor. "Oh, it's the kitchen!"
A light had now been struck, and the huge fireplaces of this kitchen
of bygone days could be seen. Everything seemed complete, even to the
woodbox which once held the tremendous logs.
"How in the world could they see to cook in such a dark place?"
inquired the practical John.
"Oh, there were probably great torches fastened to the walls, and then
there are some tiny windows. When your eyes grow accustomed to the dim
light, you can see fairly well. I should think, though, that once in a
while, the cook might have put a little too much salt in the pasty,"
Mrs. Pitt replied laughingly.
An exceedingly curious feature of Haddon's Banqueting-hall is an iron
bracket with a ring, which is between the entrance doors. Naturally,
Mrs. Pitt was called upon to explain this.
[Illustration: "IT STILL SEEMS ALIVE WITH MEMORIES OF THE FAIR DOROTHY
VERNON."--_Page 217._]
"Well," said she, "it's worth an explanation, for it has a strange
purpose. Any guest who could not or would not drink as much as was
required of him by the laws of hospitality, had his arm fastened up to
that ring, and what he had refused to take was poured down his sleeve.
Fancy! For my part, I should consider that a sad waste! Speaking of
drinking, I wonder if you really know what it means when a man pledges
or drinks a health. It's a very ancient custom! Back in the days of
Saxon England, it very often happened that a man would be stabbed
while drinking, so it became the habit for him to turn to his neighbor
and ask if he would 'pledge' him. If he agreed, his duty was to keep
guard over his friend who wished to drink. A trace of this caution
still exists at Queen's College, Oxford. There the students who wait
upon the 'fellows,' stand behind them and place their right thumbs
upon the table."
The round steps in the Long Gallery are said to have been cut from one
great oak, grown on the estate. Up these they went, and followed the
guide to the celebrated Ball-room, which is so often and so
beautifully pictured. This long room is exquisite with its carved
paneling, polished, inlaid floor, and lovely bay-windows overlooking
the terrace.
"Here the ball was in progress at the time of Dorothy Vernon's escape.
It was the wedding night of Dorothy's sister, wasn't it? At any rate,
while every one was engrossed in the dancing and merrymaking, Dorothy
quietly slipped away, ran through this door here, along the terrace,
and out to a certain tree in the park where her lover was awaiting her
with the horses. That's the story, and certainly it is a pretty one,"
concluded Mrs. Pitt.
Just off the Ball-room is the State Bed-room, which claims to have had
Queen Elizabeth as an occupant. The great bed, fourteen feet six
inches high, is considered one of the finest in England, and is
finished in green velvet and white satin.
They strolled out through Dorothy Vernon's door and along the lovely
terrace, over which the solemn yew-trees hang low. From here is seen a
charming view of the garden, hemmed in upon one side by that part of
the castle containing the Ball-room. The sun was just setting as they
lingered upon the steps of the terrace, and it flooded everything with
a golden light. The scene was so beautiful that all were silent as
they gazed and gazed. Betty finally rose with a deep sigh, and said:
"Well, I suppose Dorothy knew what she was about, but I'm sure that I
should never have run away from Haddon Hall!"
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
WINCHESTER, SALISBURY, AND STONEHENGE
It was not until they were well on their way toward Winchester, that
Mrs. Pitt found a chance to tell the young people something about that
ancient city which they were so soon to see.
"Winchester has a cathedral, hasn't it?" Betty had inquired. "I always
like to see those."
"Yes, indeed," replied Mrs. Pitt. "There surely is a cathedral, for
it's the longest one in all Europe with the exception of St. Peter's
at Rome. I'm certain you will enjoy that; but what I think you'll
appreciate even more are the associations which Winchester has with
the life of Alfred the Great. You all remember about him, don't you!"
"The fellow who burnt the cakes?" put in John, jeeringly.
"Yes, but he was also 'the fellow' who led his army at a time when
the country was in great danger--who dressed as a minstrel and dared
to go even into the very camp of the enemy, so as to investigate their
movements. You certainly like that in him, John?"
"I know it! That was great!" John answered warmly. "Please tell us
some more about him, Mrs. Pitt."
"To me he has always been one of the most lovable as well as admirable
characters in all our English history. He came to the throne at a time
when his wise leadership was greatly needed, and he fought long and
valiantly for his country. When he burnt the cakes, John, it was
merely because his thoughts were so busy with the plans for England's
future. Alfred made Winchester the capital of his whole realm, and
here he lived with all the court, when there was peace in the land.
Part of Alfred's boyhood had been spent here, too, when he was the
pupil of the wise St. Swithin; and, at Winchester, he made the good
and just laws for which he will always be remembered. Within the walls
of old Wolvesley Castle, the famous 'Anglo-Saxon Chronicle' was
commenced, at the command of the King. But besides all these useful
deeds, Alfred had such a beautiful personality that his family and
all the people of his kingdom loved him, and called him 'the perfect
King.' I have long admired this little tribute which one historian has
given Alfred the Great. He says this; I think these are the very
words: 'He was loved by his father and mother, and even by all the
people, above all by his brothers. As he advanced through the years of
infancy and youth, his form appeared more comely than that of his
brothers; in look, in speech, and in manners, he was more graceful
than they. His noble nature implanted in him from his cradle a love of
wisdom above all things.' And so, through all the centuries between
his time and ours, King Alfred's name has stood for all that is just,
kind, wise, and beautiful."
"Where was King Alfred buried, Mother?" asked Barbara.
"I'll show you his grave--or what is supposed to be his. But here we
are at Winchester now!" cried Mrs. Pitt; "and the sun has come out
just for our special benefit, too!"
In a "cathedral town," one is usually drawn first of all to the
cathedral itself, it being the central point about which the whole
town seems to cluster; and so it was that Mrs. Pitt led the way down
the shaded walk between the broad stretches of lawn surrounding the
great structure. To her great disappointment, an ugly net-work of
staging entirely spoiled the effect of the exterior of the building.
"I once read a book which an American wrote about his trip abroad,"
related Mrs. Pitt. "It amused me very much! After visiting a really
remarkable number of churches and important buildings which were
undergoing reconstruction or strengthening, this gentleman ventured
the belief that the authorities must have made a mistake in the date
of his arrival, for everything seemed to point to the preparation of a
splendid reception to him anywhere from a week to a month later. I
feel that way to-day. The Winchester people certainly could not have
expected us just yet. It's a pity that we cannot see this grand
cathedral at its best!"
The usual feeling of quiet awe came over the party upon entering the
edifice, and this was here somehow increased by the vastness of the
interior. Their footsteps echoed strangely on the stone floor, and
looking up at the arches above her head, Betty began to walk about on
tiptoe.
"The marriage of Queen Mary with Philip of Spain took place in this
cathedral," Mrs. Pitt said. "In Bishop Langton's Chapel here, is an
old chair said to have been used by the Queen at the ceremony. Notice
the six wooden chests above that screen. They contain the bones of
some of the old, old kings--William Rufus, Canute, Egbert, Ethelwolf,
and others. Once upon a time, there was a very famous shrine
here--that of St. Swithin. You remember the legend which tells how the
body of that saint was delayed from being removed to the chapel
already fitted to receive it, by forty days of rain. That's why when
we have nasty, rainy weather in England, we always blame St. Swithin.
"I'll show you the tomb of the well-known authoress, Jane Austen, and
that of Izaak Walton, who is buried in one of the chapels. The former
lived her last days and died in this town, and it was in the little
river Itchen which flows through Winchester, that Izaak Walton used to
fish. They were both laid to rest here in the cathedral, near the
scenes which they dearly loved."
The environs of the cathedral are very pretty, and one of the most
picturesque features is the old Deanery, where Charles II once lodged.
Just outside the cathedral close is the modest little house which was
Jane Austen's home.
Winchester School was visited,--a very famous old institution which is
connected with New College, Oxford, and was built by William of
Wykeham in 1396,--and the vine-covered ruins of old Wolvesley Castle,
which stand on the outskirts of the town, and near the river.
"Didn't you say that this was where King Alfred had them write the
'Anglo-Saxon Chronicle'?" Betty asked of Mrs. Pitt. "Will you please
tell us what that was? I don't seem to remember very well."
"Well, dear, the 'Anglo-Saxon Chronicle' is the 'first history of the
English People,' as some one has correctly said. Part of it was
written by Alfred himself, and the rest was done by others, under his
direction. It is simply a record of all important events which were
written down as they took place. The 'Chronicle' grew and grew for
about two hundred and fifty years, the last mention being of the
accession to the throne of Henry II, in 1154. For many years it was
kept here at its birthplace, but it has now been moved to the library
of Corpus Christi College at Oxford. You see, therefore, that this
important work really marked the start of the wonderful succession of
literary productions which Englishmen have brought forth in these one
thousand years."
Quite at the other end of the town from Wolvesley Castle is the County
Court, a fine old hall, which once upon a time formed part of a castle
built by William the Conqueror. Mrs. Pitt had some difficulty in
finding the caretaker who could admit them, and not until they were
actually inside did the children understand why she was so very
anxious that they should see it.
Many were the exclamations of delight, however, when the guide pointed
to the wall at one end of the Norman room, and told them that the
round, flat object hanging thereupon was "King Arthur's Round Table."
"What!" cried Betty, her mouth wide open in her excitement, "the very
table at which the knights sat!--Sir Lancelot, Sir Gawain, Sir
Perceval, Sir Galahad, and all the rest! Why, I never knew it was
here, or I should have come to see it before anything else! To think
of it's being the real table!"
It was hard for Mrs. Pitt to tell Betty that all the legends
concerning this table are pure fiction. "Not all authorities consider
its identity absolutely certain," she admitted unwillingly, "but we're
going to believe in it just the same. It must date from the sixth
century! Fancy! However, it was all repainted in the time of Henry
VIII, and these peculiar stripes and devices were the work of some
sixteenth century brush."
Betty sat right down on the floor, and stared up at the table of her
adored King Arthur and his knights. With much difficulty could Mrs.
Pitt persuade her to leave the hall, and that was not accomplished
until after Betty had trustingly inquired of the guide whether he knew
where the chairs were in which the knights sat when they gathered
about the table, for "she'd like so much to find them right away."
Passing under a gate of the old city-wall, and along the quaint
streets of the town, the party came to Hyde Abbey,--or what little now
remains of it.
"Alfred's body was first buried in the old minster (cathedral); then
it was carried to the new; and last of all, it was removed by the
monks here to Hyde Abbey, which monastery Alfred himself had founded.
In the eighteenth century the Abbey was almost entirely destroyed, and
then it was that Alfred's true burial-place was lost sight of. Later
still, in making some excavations here, the workmen found an ancient
coffin which was examined and believed to be that of the King.
Reverently it was reburied and marked with a flat stone, and this
doubtful grave is the only trace we now have of Alfred the Great."
They had all quietly followed Mrs. Pitt to the spot where, across the
way from the Abbey, they saw the grave.
Before returning to the hotel that night, Mrs. Pitt suggested that
they go to see the old Hospital of St. Cross.
"It's only about a mile from the town," she said. "There's a charming
little path along the banks of the Itchen, and I think we'd enjoy the
walk in the cool of the afternoon."
Mrs. Pitt was quite correct. It proved a delightful stroll, leading
them to the fertile valley in which Henry de Blois built his Hospital
of St. Cross, by the side of the pleasant little river.
"The Hospital was really founded by Henry de Blois, but three
centuries later, Cardinal Beaufort took much interest in it, made some
changes and improvements, and greatly aided in its support," the
children were told. "To this day, there is a distinction between the
St. Cross Brethren and the Beaufort Brethren, but this is chiefly
confined to the matter of dress. Seventeen men are living here now,
and are most kindly treated, fed, clothed, and allowed to plant and
tend their own tiny gardens."
But the most interesting feature of St. Cross--that which in so
remarkably vivid a way holds its connection with the past--is the
dole. Since the reign of King Stephen, no one applying for food or
drink at the Beaufort Tower of St. Cross Hospital, has ever been
turned away. To each has been given, during all the centuries, a drink
of beer and a slice of bread. A slight distinction is made between
visitors by the scrutiny of the Brethren; for, to the tramp is handed
a long draught of beer from a drinking-horn and a huge piece of bread,
while to some are offered the old silver-mounted cup, and wooden
platter.
"Can we have some?" John inquired. "I think I might not like the beer,
but the bread would be all right, and I'm hungry!"
In spite of Betty's reproving cry of "Why, John!" Mrs. Pitt motioned
him to go up to the gate, and ring.
"Yes, it's quite proper for us to apply for the dole," she said.
"Emerson and Carlyle once did so, and I imagine they were not in any
greater need of it than are we."
As John received his portions and was looking at them a bit dubiously,
Philip called out to him, "Don't take so much that you can't eat your
dinner, Jack!" and then, seeing that John had already set down the
food untouched, they all laughed merrily.
After breakfasting at Winchester the following morning, an early train
carried the party to the town of Salisbury, there to see the fairest
of the English cathedrals,--that is, in Mrs. Pitt's opinion, of
course.