In point of fact, a
thaw had been very imminent, but, alas! since then a sharp frost had
set in between them, as unaccountably as frosts frequently do set in.
"I think, now," said Mrs. Parker, "a fine old castle like this ought
to have had a grander name: don't you think so, Miss Ormiston?"
"Yes, I do, and it had, originally. There was a monastery here at one
time, over in that field with the trees in the corner of it: it was
called the abbey of Cakeholy, and when the castle was built it got the
name of Cakeholy Castle, after the abbey. The name Cakeholy, tradition
says, arose from the fact that an extraordinary saint, whose wants had
been relieved at the monastery, blessed all the bread that should ever
be baked there, and the bread ever after had a great sustaining power
in it; so that pilgrims from Edinburgh and the North, going to the
southern shrines, all passed this way to get themselves supplied with
the holy cakes. At the Reformation the abbey was destroyed, and became
a ruin haunted by owls, so that, partly in derision and partly as
suiting the altered circumstances, the common people corrupted the
name into Cockhoolet; and in process of time it was given to the
castle also, and stuck to it. That is the history of a name which is
certainly neither romantic, nor high-sounding."
"How interesting!" said Mrs. Parker. "If I were you, I would go back
to the old name: there is a reverence about it there is not about the
other.
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