EGLISE de ST . OEUN

Said Dennis, first, "This city bold Belonged to us In days of old." Said Nellie, "Here Prince Arthur wept— By cruel John A prisoner kept. Here Joan of Arc Was tried and burned, When fickle fate Against her turned." Said Rose, "Oh dear! It makes me sad To think what trouble People had Who lived once in This very town, Where we walk gaily Up and down."

Now they have come into the entrance wide Of great St. Ouen's Church; see, side by side, Dennis and Nellie going on before: The others watch yon beggar at the door— Poor blind Pierre; he always waits just so, Listening for those who come and those who go. He tells his beads, and hopes all day that some May think of him, 'mongst those who chance to come. Though he can't see, he is so quick to hear, He knows a long, long time ere one draws near, And shakes the coppers in his well-worn tin— "Click, click," it goes—see, Bertie's gift drops in. 'Tis his one sou that Bertie gives away— It might have bought him sweets this very day. When through St. Ouen's Church they'd been at last, Along its aisles and down its transept passed, They went to the Cathedral, there to see The tomb of Rolf, first Duke of Normandy. But Mabel said, "Why should we English care About that Rolf they say was buried there?" Then she ran on, not waiting for reply— My little reader, can you tell her why?