As he walked towards the great organ he heard a child's voice, high-pitched and clear, talking behind the traceries of the choir screen.

He supposed it the voice of some irreverent chorister, and stepping aside to rebuke it, discovered Corona and Brother Copas together gazing up at the coffins above the canopy.
"And is King Alfred really up there ?--the one that burnt the cakes ?-- and if so, which ?" Corona was asking, too eager to think of grammar.
Brother Copas shrugged his shoulders.
"What's left of him is up there somewhere." 'Here are sands, ignoble things Dropped from the ruined sides of kings.' "-- But the Parliament troopers broke open the coffins and mixed the dust sadly.

The Latin says so.

'_In this and the neighbouring chests_' (or caskets, as you say in America), '_confounded in a time of Civil Fury, reposes what dust is left of_--' Ah, good afternoon, Mr.Simeon! This young lady has laid forcible hands on me to give her an object-lesson in English history.

Do you, who know ten times more of the Cathedral than I, come to my aid." "If you are looking for King Alfred," answered Mr.Simeon, beaming on Corona through his glasses, "there's a tradition that his dust lies in the second chest to the right.