r, but
that failed too. So he concluded that he must be intended to return,
and, remounting, he set the mare off back to the haunted moor.

She went cross-country through the murky night like the wind, and in
a very few minutes Dodge was again on the spot where he had left his
brother priest. There the mare shied once more and showed every sign of
fear, and the parson, looking about him, espied a short distance off the
gruesome spectre he had originally come to meet.

There was the sooty-black coach, the dark, headless steeds, and, what
thoroughly alarmed him, a grim cloaked figure urging his team at a
gallop along a path in which lay the prostrate form of his friend the
rector of Lanreath.

Parson Dodge set his mare, despite her fears, straight for the
approaching coach, uttering his prayers of exorcism the while. With the
first words the dusky team swerved and a sepulchral voice came from the
driver, saying: "Dodge is come! I must be gone." With that the spirit
whipped up his horses and disappeared at a tremendous pace across the
moor, and was never seen again.

The parson then dismounted and was able to revive the unconscious rector
and carry him safely home, for his own horse, startled at the appearance
of the spectre, had thrown its rider and bolted.

Talland, the home of the old parson, is a fascinating little village
on the coast, between the two Looes--East and West--and picturesque
Polperro, where rugged cliffs on either side descend to form a sheltered
little bay.

Looe is a quaint fishing town straggling on each side of the estuary
of the river of the same name. You reach it by a branch railway from
Liskeard, on the Great Western main line. It is an ideal place in which
to spend a quiet holiday. The coast east and west is typically Cornish,
rugged and wild, yet pierced every few miles by some sheltered cove
or inlet.

Looe itself, protected from the cold winds, enjoys a beautiful climate,
particularly mild in winter. Coast and moorland walks abound; there is
a golf course close at hand, and the sea fishing is excellent.

[Illustration: _Talland Church_]

[Illustration]

ST. NEOT, THE PIGMY SAINT

Of all the vast company of saints peculiar to Cornwall, St. Neot is
surely the strangest, for he was, so the old traditions have it, a
pigmy, perfectly formed, yet only fifteen inches in height. There are
very many stories told of this tiny holy man, and most of them seem to
show that he wielde