a good Norman door to
the south of the nave. It was here that Our Lady had in Chaucer's day
a very famous shrine concerning which the following rather gruesome
legend is told. The body of a man, no doubt a criminal or suicide,
having been cast upon the beach in this parish, was buried here in
the churchyard. Our Lady of Chatham, however, was offended thereby,
and by night went Herself to the house of the clerk and awakened him.
And when he would all trembling know wherefor She was come. She
answered that near to Her shrine an unshriven and sinful person had
been laid, which thing offended Her, for he did naught but grin in
ghastly fashion. Therefore unless he were removed She Herself must
withdraw from that place. The Clerk arose hurriedly we may be sure,
and, going with Our Lady along towards the church, it happened that
She grew weary and rested in a bush or tree by the wayside, and ever
after this bush was green all the winter through. But the Clerk, going
on, dug up the body and flung it back into the water from which it
had so lately been drawn.

Now, as to this story, all I have to say of it is that I do not
believe a word of it. Not because I am blinded by any sentimentalism
of to-day, which, as in a child's story, brings all right for everyone
in the end; but for this very cogent reason that of all created beings
Our Lady is the most merciful, loving and tender--Refugium
Peccatorum.

Also I know a better story. For it is said that one day Our Lord was
walking with Sampietro in Paradise, as the Padrone may do with his
Fattore, when after a while He said, not as complaining exactly but
as stating a fact, "Sampietro, this place is going down!"

Here Sampietro, who is always impetuous and knew very well what He
meant, dared to interrupt, "Il Santissimo can't blame me," said he
huffily. "Il Santissimo does not suppose they all come in by the gate?
_Che Che!_"

"Not come in by the gate, Sampietro. What do you mean?" said Our Lord.
"If Il Santissimo will but step this way, round by these bushes," said
Sampietro, "He shall see." And there sure enough He saw; for there was
Our Lady drawing us all up helter-skelter, pell-mell, willy-nilly into
Heaven in a great bucket, to our great gain and undeserved good. O
clemens, O pia, O dulcis Virgo Maria.

The road between Chatham and Sittingbourne might seem to be
unquestionably that by which the pilgrims rode, and as certainly the
Roman highway. It is, however, rather ba