Myself. A singular invention, certainly. Pity they built the church in such an outlandish place.
Mr. Eli. Oh, don’t say so. The church was built there by direction. It is close to the well of St. Winifred, the healing waters of which, as you are aware, are celebrated far and near.
Myself. Then the tales you and others tell about the efficacy of the waters of the fountain are really true?
“Yes, of course, they are perfectly true. When all is said and written about the waters, we can truly say that the half is not told.”
Myself. I should like to possess a true and authentic history of the place.
“Doubtless,” replied Mr. Eli, “you would. Its history has yet to be written.”
Myself. There is, then, evidence, Mr. Eli, that people who have bathed in its waters have been made whole?
“Yes; plenty of evidence,” replied Mr. Eli; “and if you will now accompany me to the well, I’ll show you some of the many witnesses.”
When we entered the building, my friend conducted me to a spot where we had a good view of the interior. He pointed with his finger to the roof, at the same time remarking, “Up there, look up there, for there is the evidence, the witnesses, to which I referred.”
Myself. Do you mean those barrows, hand carts, crutches, and staves, and other things too numerous to mention, fastened to the ceiling?