'And I had intended doing the same thing,' said Mr. Copley. 'That is, I hoped to finish off my previous sketches, which are in a frightful state of incompletion, and spend a good deal of time on the interior of this cathedral, which is unusually beautiful.' At this juncture Aunt Celia disappeared for a moment to ask the barmaid if, in her opinion, the constant consumption of malt liquors prevents a more dangerous indulgence in brandy and whisky. She is gathering statistics, but as the barmaids can never collect their thoughts while they are drawing ale, Aunt Celia proceeds slowly. 'For my part,' said I, with mock humility, 'I am a docile person, who never has any intentions of her own, but who yields herself sweetly to the intentions of other people in her immediate vicinity.' 'Are you?' asked Mr. Copley, taking out his pencil. 'Yes, I said so. What are you doing?' 'Merely taking note of your statement, that's all. Now, Miss Van Tyck' (of course Aunt Celia appeared at this delightful moment), 'I have a plan to propose. I was here last summer with a couple of Harvard men, and we lodged at a farmhouse about a mile distant from the cathedral. If you will step into the coffee-room for an hour, I'll walk up to Farmer Hendry's and see if they will take us in. I think we might be fairly comfortable.' 'Can Aunt Celia have Apollinaris and black coffee after her morning bath?' I asked. 'I hope, Katharine,' said Aunt Celia majestically--'I hope that I can accommodate myself to circumstances. If Mr. Copley can secure apartments for us, I shall be more than grateful.' So here we are, all lodging together in an ideal English farmhouse. There is a thatched roof on one of the old buildings, and the dairy-house is covered with ivy, and Farmer Hendry's wife makes a real English curtsey, and there are herds of beautiful sleek Durham cattle, and the butter and cream and eggs and mutton are delicious, and I never, never want to go home any more. I want to live here for ever and wave the American flag on Washington's birthday. I am so happy that I feel as if something were going to spoil it all. Twenty years old to-day! I wish mamma were alive to wish me many happy returns. The cathedral is very beautiful in itself, and its situation is beyond all words of mine to describe. I greatly admired the pulpit, which is supported by five pillars sunk into the backs of squashed lions; but Mr. Copley, when I asked him the period, said, 'Pure Brummagem!' There is a nice old cell for refractory monks, that we agreed will be a lovely place for Mrs. Benedict if we can lose her in it. She arrives as soon as they can find room for her at the Three Tuns.