ething more than words was needed to lead his people into
the right way. And so it happened one Sunday morning, in the midst of a
hot tussle on Craddock Moor, the outraged St. Cleer arrived in search of
his erring flock.

He bade them cease their game at once and return to church. Some of them
obeyed, wandering sheepishly off down the hill; some were defiant and
told the worthy man to go back to his prayers and not to come up there
to spoil sport.

Then St. Cleer spoke in anger. Raising his staff he told them in solemn
and awful tones that it should be as they had chosen. Since they
preferred their game on the moor to their service in church, on the moor
at their game they should stay for ever. He lowered his staff and to the
horror of all onlookers the defiant ones were seen to be turned into
stone.

Many centuries have passed since then. Time, wind and rain have
weathered the stone men out of all semblance of humanity. Some have been
destroyed, but most still remain as an awful example to impious Sabbath
profaners. And there you may see them silent and still, just as they
were struck on that grim Sunday in the dark long ago.

The glorious moorland, rugged and wild, stretches all about them--a
wonderful walking country, where one may escape from all cares and
wander for hours amid the bracken and sweet-smelling grasses and find
strange prehistoric remains seldom visited by any but the moorland sheep
and the wild birds. It is a country of vast spaces and far views. You
may see on one hand the Severn Sea, on the other the Channel; to the
east the upstanding blue hills of Dartmoor and to the west the rugged
highlands by Land's End--and then trudge back at night weary but happy
to Liskeard, described as "the pleasantest town in Cornwall," and find
it hard to believe that only five hours away is the toil and turmoil of
London.

[Illustration: _"The Hurlers," St. Cleer_]

[Illustration]

HOW ST. PIRAN CAME TO CORNWALL

Some sixteen hundred years ago, so tradition tells, there lived in the
South of Ireland a very holy man named Piran. Such was his piety that
he was able to perform miracles. Once he fed ten Irish kings and their
armies for ten days on end with three cows. Men sorely wounded in battle
were brought to him to be cured, and he cured them. Yet the Irish grew
jealous of his power and decided he must be killed.

And so one stormy, boisterous morning the pious Piran was brought in
chains to the sum