they are jokes."

"Miss Bingham," said Robert, "would say that such inventions were in
poor taste."

"So they are," said Jack.

"Poor William!" said Mrs. Avory. "You oughtn't to be cross with him,
Jack. After all, he did lose when you tossed up."

"Yes," said Jack. "But, look here, Mrs. Avory, suppose some of it's
true."

At this they all roared, for it showed what Jack's trouble really was.

"Oh, Jack," said his sister, "you mustn't want everything. Even if it
were true, you ought to be much happier here."

"Have some more coffee, Jack," Mrs. Avory said quickly.

As it was Sunday, they went to Trinity Church (which usually costs
sixpence to enter, because of Shakespeare's tomb--a charge of which I
am sure the poet would not approve). As the words in the sermon grew
longer and longer, Hester made renewed efforts to get a glimpse of the
tomb, but it was in a part of the chancel that was not within sight.
She had instead to study the windows, which she always liked to do in
church; and she found herself repeating the lines on the tomb, which
she had long known:

"Good friend, for Jesus sake forbeare
To digg the dust enclosed heare:
Bleste be ye man Yt spares these stones,
And curst be he yt moves my bones."

On Sunday, even after service, the church was not on view, but the next
day it was there that they hurried directly after breakfast, Hester
carrying with her some little bunches of flowers. They paid their
sixpences, and made straight for Shakespeare's tomb, and stood before
the coloured bust--that bust which you see in reproduction at every
turn in this loyal town. It is perhaps more interesting than
impressive, and the children had a serious argument over it, Jack even
daring to say that the face was stupid-looking, and Gregory declining
almost petulantly to consider Shakespeare in the least like a swan.

Poor Hester, how to defend him against these horrid boys!

Janet came to the rescue by saying that Jack was probably thinking that
the forehead was too high; but a high forehead was a sign of genius.

"It may be so," said Jack, "but father has a poor patient with water on
the brain just like that." (What can you do with people, who talk in
this way?)

"But, of course," said Horace, "it doesn't matter what he looked like
really, because he didn't write the plays at all. They were written by
Roger Bacon."

This led to acute trouble.

"How can you say such wicked things!" Hester protested