"Tell me," said Win, indicating the stone vault. "What are those little pointed things up there?"
"You mean the limpet shells?" asked Max, looking up.
"Are they shells?" said Win in amazement. "They looked it, but I couldn't imagine how shells could be scattered about up there."
"Some thousand years ago when the original builders quarried this stone from the Jersey shore, they didn't trouble to scrape off the limpets that clung to it. Nobody has removed them since; now it would seem sacrilege to do so."
"A thousand years!" repeated Win in awe. He stopped work for a moment to look at the pointed shells on the roof.
"Does jar a fellow and makes him feel mighty transitory and insignificant, doesn't it?" commented Max, with a friendly glance of understanding. "I think there's no place quite like this church. The Manor lies in its parish and Uncle Dick would know if a single limpet was knocked off. The only time I ever saw him really angry was once when some Americans—I'm an American, too, you know, so I can tell this story—tried to bribe the verger to scrape one down for them. There was rather a row and Uncle was in a fine fizz.
"There's one interesting thing common to all these old churches," Max went on, seeing that Win appreciated the place. "The island is divided into twelve parishes. From the church of each there was originally a road, leading directly to the sea. In feudal times, a criminal was safe if he took sanctuary in the church and by the old custom, after he had abjured his crime, he could go down by this one road to the shore and leave the island. But if he strayed never so little aside, he lost the benefit of the sanctuary and was liable to the law. Just imagine some old robber or cut-throat marching down his path to the sea, escorted by the churchwardens, with other men watching his every step, ready to seize him if he swerved. Some of these sanctuary roads are still the main highways."
"I think the island history is so interesting," said Win. "I suppose it is a fact that Prince Charles did take refuge here?"
"No doubt of it," Max replied, looking critically at the almost completed pulpit decorations. "Indeed, there is a story that he was entertained at Laurel Manor. Ask Uncle about it," he added, not noticing Win's start of interest. "He's awfully keen on that legend. I suppose it is very likely true though I don't know that there is any real proof. There, do you think her ladyship will approve our efforts? Excuse me,—Connie wants her star put in place."
Left alone, Win stood thinking hard. So Prince Charles was reputed to have visited Laurel Manor! What if that chance letter were the proof? If so, was there not more in its message than confirmation of the prince's stay? One thing was certain—he must get acquainted with Colonel Lisle.