The building, after all the years bygone, still serves its ancient purpose, more fortunate than many other foundations in this respect whose funds have been diverted to different aims from those originally intended, sometimes perhaps of necessity, but other times, and not seldom, I fear, without such compulsory or sufficient cause. We were told that the top story of this very interesting bit of old-time architecture was the school, and the ground floor the master's house, a curious arrangement. "Just you ring the bell at the door," exclaimed our informant, "and I'm sure the master will show you over; it's a funny old place within." But we did not like to intrude; moreover, it was getting late and the gloaming was gathering around.
Resuming our wanderings we found ourselves eventually by the side of the narrow river Steeping, up which the small ships of yore used to make their way to the then flourishing port of Wainfleet, or Waynflete as the ancient geographers quaintly had it. There we rested that warm September evening watching, in a dreamy mood, the tranquil gliding and gleaming of the peaceful river, listening to the soothing, liquid gurgling of its quiet flowing water. There was something very poetic about the spot that caused us to weave romances for ourselves, a change from reading them ready-made in novels! So we rested and romanced
While the stars came out and the night wind
Brought up the stream
Murmurs and scents of the infinite sea.
We had so far been disappointed in our search
