He somewhat timidly enjoyed Chester the early part of the next
day, docilely following a guide about the walls, gaping at the
mill on the Dee and asking the guide two intelligent questions
about Roman remains. He snooped through the galleried streets,
peering up dark stairways set in heavy masonry that spoke of
historic sieges, and imagined that he was historically besieging.
For a time Mr. Wrenn's fancies contented him.
He smiled as he addressed glossy red and green postcards to Lee
Theresa and Goaty, Cousin John and Mr. Guilfogle, writing on
each a variation of "Having a splendid trip. This is a very
interesting old town. Wish you were here." Pantingly, he found
a panorama showing the hotel where he was staying--or at least
two of its chimneys--and, marking it with a heavy cross and the
announcement "This is my hotel where I am staying," he sent it
to Charley Carpenter.
He was at his nearest to greatness at Chester Cathedral.
He chuckled aloud as he passed the remains of a refectory of
monastic days, in the close, where knights had tied their
romantically pawing chargers, "just like he'd read about in a
story about the olden times.
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