e lady long ago in India,' said
Albert's uncle, as he left the room, slamming the door in a way we
should be forbidden to.

And that was the end of the Canterbury Pilgrimage.

As for the lady, we did not then know whether she was his long-lost
grandmother that he had known in India or not, though we thought she
seemed youngish for the part. We found out afterwards whether she was
or not, but that comes in another part. His manner was not the one that
makes you go on asking questions. The Canterbury Pilgriming did not
exactly make us good, but then, as Dora said, we had not done anything
wrong that day. So we were twenty-four hours to the good.

Note A.--Afterwards we went and saw real Canterbury. It is
very large. A disagreeable man showed us round the cathedral, and jawed
all the time quite loud as if it wasn't a church. I remember one thing
he said. It was this:

'This is the Dean's Chapel; it was the Lady Chapel in the wicked days
when people used to worship the Virgin Mary.'

And H. O. said, 'I suppose they worship the Dean now?'

Some strange people who were there laughed out loud. I think this is
worse in church than not taking your cap off when you come in, as H. O.
forgot to do, because the cathedral was so big he didn't think it was a
church.

Note B. (See Note C.)

Note C. (See Note D.)

Note D. (See Note E.)

Note E. (See Note A.)

This ends the Canterbury Pilgrims.

CHAPTER 13. THE DRAGON'S TEETH; OR, ARMY-SEED

Albert's uncle was out on his bicycle as usual. After the day when we
became Canterbury Pilgrims and were brought home in the dog-cart with
red wheels by the lady he told us was his long-lost grandmother he had
known years ago in India, he spent not nearly so much of his time
in writing, and he used to shave every morning instead of only when
requisite, as in earlier days. And he was always going out on his
bicycle in his new Norfolk suit. We are not so unobserving as grown-up
people make out. We knew well enough he was looking for the long-lost.
And we jolly well wished he might find her. Oswald, always full of
sympathy with misfortune, however undeserved, had himself tried several
times to find the lady. So had the others. But all this is what they
call a digression; it has nothing to do with the dragon's teeth I am now
narrating.

It began with the pig dying--it was the one we had for the circus, but
it having behaved so badly that day