THE LAKE VILLAGE 201 



the Cheddar valley and near Winscombc I dropped in 

 on an old friend, a writer and a lover of birds, who had 

 built himself a charming bungalow among the Mendips. 

 \Vc had tea on the terrace, a nice cool rose and creeper- 

 shaded place after my long hot ramble, a green lawn 

 beneath us, with a row of large pine trees on its other 

 side. My friend was telling me of a flock of crossbills 

 which to his delight had been haunting the place for 

 some days past, when lo! down came the very birds, and 

 there for half an hour we had them right before us 

 while we drank tea and ate straw^berries, and watched 

 them working at the cones — our quaint pretty little 

 parrots of the north, so diversely coloured — one red like 

 a red cardinal, one or two yellow, others green or mixed. 

 On the following day I was at Wells; it was Sunday, 

 and in the morning, happening to see the bell-ringers 

 hurrying into St. Cuthbert's Church, I was reminded 

 of an old wish of mine to be in a belfry during the bell- 

 ringing. This wish and intention was formed some 

 years ago on reading an article in the Saturday Review 

 by Walter Herries Pollock, describing his sensations 

 in a belfry. Here then was my opportunity — a better 

 could not have been found if I had sought for it. St. 

 Cuthbert's is one of the greatest of the great Glaston- 

 bury church towers, with a peal of eight big bells. I 

 had often listened to them with pleasure from a re- 

 spectable distance, and now I felt a slight twinge of 

 apprehension at the prospect of a close acquaintance. 

 The bell-ringers were amused at my request: nobody 

 ever wanted to be among the bells when they were 



