"Yes, I do, and it had, originally. There was a monastery here at one
time, over in that field with the trees in the corner of it: it was
called the abbey of Cakeholy, and when the castle was built it got the
name of Cakeholy Castle, after the abbey. The name Cakeholy, tradition
says, arose from the fact that an extraordinary saint, whose wants had
been relieved at the monastery, blessed all the bread that should ever
be baked there, and the bread ever after had a great sustaining power
in it; so that pilgrims from Edinburgh and the North, going to the
southern shrines, all passed this way to get themselves supplied with
the holy cakes. At the Reformation the abbey was destroyed, and became
a ruin haunted by owls, so that, partly in derision and partly as
suiting the altered circumstances, the common people corrupted the
name into Cockhoolet; and in process of time it was given to the
castle also, and stuck to it. That is the history of a name which is
certainly neither romantic, nor high-sounding."

"How interesting!" said Mrs. Parker. "If I were you, I would go back
to the old name: there is a reverence about it there is not about the
other. Only think of bands of pilgrims coming across the moor there!"

"Yes, in their gowns and rope girdles, with wallets and
scallop-shells," said Bessie. "It must have been a curious old world
then: one could sit here and muse by the hour on all that has come and
gone. I often bring up my work or my book here in summer and think of
it."

"I do like old things," said Mrs. Parker, "and old families and old
names. Our name, for instance, has no smack of age about it, and it is
so short and perky: it must have been given to some one who had to do
with parks."