“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.
To say that Salisbury Cathedral stands in the center of a velvet-like lawn, to mention the fact that a little stream flows musically by, to add that the towers and lines of the building itself are wonderfully graceful, is attempting to describe things as they exist, but wholly inadequate in the impression which it gives to the reader. There is an indescribable fascination about Salisbury Cathedral, which a person must see to understand. Any one who is at all responsive to the charm of great architecture, can sit for hours under the old trees on the little common, and drink in the whole scene,—the beautiful building with its delicate shapes outlined in shadows upon the green grass.
“No doubt it is a generally accepted fact that Lincoln is the finest of the English cathedrals,” Mrs. Pitt explained after a time. “Perhaps Durham comes next in line, and Canterbury has great historical interest. I only assert that to me Salisbury is the most beautiful. You know, Betty, that the construction of most cathedrals was extended over many years,—even many generations, usually. Salisbury was an exception to that rule, for it was begun and finished within forty years (1220 to 1260), and therefore has rare harmony and uniformity of style.”
There are many quaint streets and buildings in the town of Salisbury, but these become familiar though always delightful sights to the visitor who gives a good share of his time to old England. Having noted the old-fashioned King’s Arms Inn, which was a secret meeting-place of the Royalists after the battle of Worcester, the party had an early lunch, and then set out to drive the ten miles to Stonehenge.
The road which they took begins to ascend gradually, and after about a mile and a half brought them to the high mound which was once “the largest entrenched camp in the kingdom,” according to Betty’s leather-covered Baedeker. This was the site of Old Sarum, a fort during the Roman occupation, and afterwards a Saxon town. Numerous interesting remains of the camp are here, and the high elevation affords an excellent view of Salisbury and the surrounding country.
The rest of the drive was not particularly enjoyable. A sharp wind blew over the high Salisbury Plains, which are bare and not very picturesque to see. In the center of this great stretch of plain stands that strange relic of the past known as Stonehenge. Being on an elevation, the stones stand out weirdly against the sky as the visitor approaches, and give him a foretaste of the peculiar mystery which pervades the place.