opas had gone.
. . . Why had he not bethought him to cite Caedmon, at any rate,
against that sweeping disparagement? How went the story?--

Caedmon was a lay brother, a tender of cattle at the Abbey of
Whitby under the Abbess Hilda who founded it. Until somewhat
spent in years he had never learnt any poems. Therefore at a
feast, when all sang in turn, so soon as he saw the harp coming
near him, he would rise and leave the table and go home.
Once when he had gone thus from the feast to the stables, where
he had night-charge of the beasts, as he yielded himself to
sleep One stood over him and said, greeting him by name,
"Caedmon, sing some song to me." "I cannot sing," he said, "and
for this cause left I the feast." "But you shall sing to me,"
said the Vision. "Lord, what shall I sing?" "Sing the
Creation," said the Vision. Caedmon sang, and in the morning
remembered what he had sung . . .

"If this indeed happened to Caedmon, and late in life" (mused Mr.
Simeon, heaving on the bellows of the great organ), "might not even
some such miracle befall me?"

Lord, I have loved the habitation of Thy house, and the place
where Thine honour dwelleth.

"I might even write a play," thought Mr. Simeon.

CHAPTER XII.

MR. ISIDORE TAKES CHARGE.

"Uncle Copas," said Corona, as the two passed out through the small
doorway in the southern aisle and stood blinking in the sunshine,
"I want you next to show me what's left of the old Castle where the
kings lived: that is, if you're not tired."

"Tired, child? 'Tis our business--'tis the Brethren's business--
to act as guides around the relics of Merchester. By fetching a very
small circuit we can take the Castle on our way, and afterwards walk
home along the water-meads, my favourite path."

Corona slipped her hand into his confidentially. Together they left
the Close, and passing under the King's Gate, turned down College
Street, which led them by the brewhouse and outer porch of the great
School. A little beyond it, where by a conduit one of the Mere's
hurrying tributaries gushed beneath the road, they came to a regiment
of noble elms guarding a gateway, into which Brother Copas turned
aside. A second and quite unpretentious gateway admitted them to a
green meadow, in shape a rough semicircle, enclosed by ruinated
walls.

"You may come here most days of the month," said Brother Copas