[Illustration: "'IT IS TIME TO SET HIM BUILDING FOR ENGLAND'"] "When I find a Scotch mason with an English apprentice building Norman arches in the Danelaw," said Henry, "it is time to set him building for England. I hear that William, whom they call the Englishman, is at work in Canterbury. When you want work you may give him this, and by the sight of God have a care that there is peace among the building-stones." David must have done so, for on one of the stones in a world-famed cathedral may be seen the mason's mark of David le Saumond and the fish which is his token. LONDON BRIDGE (1066) It was almost an hundred years ago, When Ethelred was King. This town of London Was held by Danes. Olaf the King of Norway Came with his host to fight for Ethelred And with his galleys rowed beneath the bridge, Lashed cables round the piers, and caught the tide That lent the strength of Ocean to their strength Rowing down-stream. Ah, how the strong oars beat The waters into foam--and how the Danes Above upon the bridge fought furiously With stones and arrows--but the bridge went down-- The bridge went down. So Ethelred was King. And now the bridge has been built up again. 'Tis not a thing of timbers, or hewn stone; It is a weaving of men's hopes and dreams From shore to shore. It is a thing alive. The men of Surrey and the men of Kent, The men of Sussex and Northumberland, The shepherds of the downs, the Wealden forges, Fishermen, packmen, bargemen, masons, all The traffickers of England, made our bridge. It is a thing enchanted by the thoughts Of all our people. [Illustration] XIV AT BARTLEMY FAIR HOW BARTY APPLEBY WENT TO THE FAIR AT SMITH FIELD AND CAUGHT A MISCREANT The farmer's life is a very varied one, as any one who ever lived on a farm is aware. In some seasons the work is so pressing that the people hardly stop to eat or sleep. At other times Nature herself takes a hand, and the farmer has a chance to mend walls, make and repair harness, clear woodland and do some hedging and ditching while the land is getting ready for the next harvest. This at any rate was the way in medieval England, and the latter part of August between haying and harvest was a holiday time. Barty Appleby liked Saint Bartholomew's Day, the twenty-fourth of August, best of all the holidays of the year. It was the feast of his name-saint, when a cake was baked especially for him. Yule-tide was a merry season, but to have a holiday of one's very own was even pleasanter.