e village lies deep in Wealden clay,
which can grow luxuriant roses, but which in days when Surrey roads were
less well laid made getting about in the winter rains a matter of
difficulty for those who could not drive. So those who walked made their
own paths, which can be seen running along the side of most of the
roads in the neighbourhood. "Causies" is the local name for these
causeways, which are single slabs of flat stone set like stepping stones
in the clay, sometimes for miles together. The villagers tell you that
they have been there since no one knows when. They may be right, but
their probable date is the middle of the seventeenth century, when John
Gainsford, as we shall see, was making a causeway like these at
Crowhurst.

[Illustration: _Charlwood._]

A very curious set of wall paintings portrays, in the south aisle of
Charlwood church, the legend of St. Margaret. St. Margaret was a virgin
and a martyr, a most popular saint in the middle ages, and the heroine
of a remarkable story. She was the daughter of a pagan priest at
Antioch, and since she was a weak child, she was sent into the country
for fresh air. Her nurse brought her up as a Christian, and when she was
older she was sent into the fields to mind sheep. One day the governor
of Antioch, whose name was Olibrius, was out hunting, saw the pretty
shepherdess, fell in love with her at sight, and offered her his hand in
marriage on the spot. St. Margaret refused him; she might not wed with a
pagan. Olibrius was furious. He seized the poor shepherdess, beat her
cruelly, and threw her into prison; even there she was not safe. The
devil himself came after her in the form of a dragon, entered the prison
and swallowed the saint whole, as you may see in the picture. However,
Providence intervened, and by a miracle she escaped from the dragon's
body. Evidently Providence then gave up helping, for Olibrius succeeded
where the devil had failed. He ordered her head off at once, and the
artist has painted her soul flying to heaven in the form of a dove.

Another painting sets out a commoner story, the allegory of the Three
Living and the Three Dead. Three kings ride out hunting in the forest,
and are met by three ghastly spectres, who lecture them on the vanity of
this world's pomps and pleasures. I should think this used to be a
favourite. It must have been vastly comforting to the poor, and pretty
easy, too, for the parson. Anybody could make a sermon on the suff