All the time he kept on saying quietly to himself: "Vengeance on the Rev. Francis Gastrell!"
"Perhaps," said Hester, "there is a mistake in the verses in the church. Perhaps they ought to be:
"'Bleste be ye man yt spares these bones,
And curst be he yt moves my stones.'
That would mean the Rev. Francis Gastrell."
"I hope so," said Mr. Imber. "It's a very good idea. But why do you like Shakespeare so?"
"He's so wonderful," said Hester.
"Yes, but so is Scott, say, and Dickens."
"Oh, but Shakespeare's so beautiful, too," said Hester.
The children had gone alone to the church on the Monday morning. On returning to the hotel they found Mrs. Avory ready for them, and all started for the birthplace in Henley Street, where Shakespeare was born, probably on April 23, 1564. This is now a museum with all kinds of Shakespeare relics in it, profoundly interesting to Hester if not to the others. The desk at which he sat in the Grammar School is there; and his big chair from the Falcon Inn at Bidford; and many portraits; and on one of the windows, scratched with a diamond, is the name of Sir Walter Scott. The boys wanted to write their names, too, but it is no longer allowed; although I fancy that if Sir Walter Scott could visit Stratford again he would be permitted to break the rule.
They stood in the bedroom where Shakespeare was born, and where his father and mother probably died; and they looked into the garden where he used to play; and Horace very mischievously pointed out the fireplace in the kitchen where, as he told Hester, they cooked their bacon.