with that slow gold that seems to soak everything when we went
into the church.

In the growing darkness of the church, my eye caught the coloured
windows which on that clear golden evening were flaming with all the
passionate heraldry of the most fierce and ecstatic of Christian arts.
At length I said to my companion:

"Do you see that angel over there? I think it must be meant
for the angel at the sepulchre."

He saw that I was somewhat singularly moved, and he raised his eyebrows.

"I daresay," he said. "What is there odd about that?"

After a pause I said, "Do you remember what the angel at
the sepulchre said?"

"Not particularly," he answered; "but where are you off
to in such a hurry?"

I walked him rapidly out of the still square, past the
fishermen's almshouses, towards the coast, he still inquiring
indignantly where I was going.

"I am going," I said, "to put pennies in automatic machines
on the beach. I am going to listen to the niggers. I am going
to have my photograph taken. I am going to drink ginger-beer
out of its original bottle. I will buy some picture postcards.
I do want a boat. I am ready to listen to a concertina,