an' be hanged to me if I can find the church at all!"
"Fwhat's become av ut?" cried the saint, sitting up sharply.
"How should I know? But devil a trace can I see!"
"Now, look here," St. Piran said; "the church was there, right enough."
"That's a true word," spoke up an old man, "for I mind it well. An elegant tower it had, an' a shingle roof."
"Spake up, now," said the saint, glaring around; "fwich av ye's gone an' misbestowed me parush church? For I won't believe," he said, "that it's any worse than carelussness--at laste, not yet-a-bit."
Some remembered the church, and some did not: but the faces of all were clear of guilt. They trooped out on the sands to search.
Now, the sands by Perranzabuloe are for ever shifting and driving before the northerly and nor'-westerly gales; and in time had heaped themselves up and covered the building out of sight. To guess this took the saint less time than you can wink your eye in; but the bother was that no one remembered exactly
