The plan of the town of Mavis Greythorpe was very simple, being one long
street with houses on either side, placed just as the builders pleased.
Churchwarden Rounds' long thatched place stood many yards back, which
was convenient, for he liked to grow roses that his neighbours could see
and admire. Crumps the cowkeeper's, too, stood some distance back, but
that was handy, for there was room for the cowshed and the dairy close
to the path. Dredge, the butcher, had his open shop, too--a separate
building from the house at the back--close to the path, where customers
could see the mortal remains of one sheep a week, sometimes two, and in
the cold weather a pig, and a half or third of a "beast," otherwise a
small bullock, the other portions being retained by neighbouring
butchers at towns miles away, where the animal had been slain. But at
fair time and Christmas, Butcher, or, as he pronounced it, Buttcher
Dredge, to use his own words, "killed hissen" and a whole bullock was on
exhibition in his open shop.
The houses named give a fair idea of the way in which architecture was
arranged for in Mavis; every man who raised a house planted it where it
seemed good in his own eyes; and as in most cases wayfarers stepped down
out of the main street into the front rooms, the popular way of building
seemed to have been that the builder dug a hole and then put a house in
it.
Among those houses which were flush with the main street was that of
Michael Chakes, clerk and sexton, who was also the principal shoemaker
of Mavis, and his place of business was a low, open-windowed room with
bench and seat, where, when not officially engaged, he sat at work,
surrounded by the implements and products of his trade, every now and
then opening his mouth and making a noise after repeating a couple of
lines, under the impression that he was singing. Upon that point
opinions differed.
Vane Lee wanted a piece of leather, and as there was nothing at home
that he could cut up, saving one of the doctor's Wellington boots, which
were nearly new, he put on his cap, thrust his hands in his pockets, and
set off for the town street, as eagerly as if his success in life
depended upon his obtaining that piece of leather instanter.
The place was perfectly empty as he reached the south end, the shops
looked nearly the same, save that at Grader the baker's there were four
covered glasses, containing some tasteless looking biscuits full of
holes; a great many flies, hungry and eager to get out, walking in all
directions over the panes; and on the lowest shelf Grader's big tom-cat,
enjoying a good sleep in the sun.
Vane did not want any of those biscuits, but just then he caught sight
of Distin crossing the churchyard, and to avoid him he popped in at the
baker's, to be saluted by a buzz from the flies, and a slow movement on
the part of the cat who rose, raised his back into a high arch, yawned
and stretched, and then walked on to the counter, and rubbed his head
against Vane's buttons, as the latter thrust his hands into his pocket
for a coin, and tapped on the counter loudly once, then twice, then the
third time, but there was no response, for the simple reason that Mrs
Grader had gone to talk to a neighbour, and John Grader, having risen at
three to bake his bread, and having delivered it after breakfast, was
taking a nap.
"Oh, what a sleepy lot they are here!" muttered Vane, as he went to the
door which, as there was no sign of Distin now, and he did not want any
biscuits, he passed, and hurried along the street to where Michael
Chakes sat in his open window, tapping away slowly at the heavy sole of
a big boot which he was ornamenting with rows of hob-nails.
Vane stepped in at once, and the sexton looked up, nodded, and went on
nailing again.
"Oughtn't to put the nails so close, Mike."
"Nay, that's the way to put in nails, Mester Vane!" said the sexton.
"But if they were open they'd keep a man from slipping in wet and
frost."
"Don't want to keep man from slipping, want to make 'em weer."
"Oh, all right; have it your own way. Here, I want a nice strong new
bit of leather, about six inches long."
"What for?"
"Never you mind what for, get up and sell me a bit."
"Nay, I can't leave my work to get no leather to-day, Mester. Soon as
I've putt in these here four nails, I'm gooing over to belfry."
"What for? Some one dead?"
"Nay, not they. Folk weant die a bit now, Mester Vane. I dunno whether
it's Parson Syme's sarmints or what, but seems to me as if they think
it's whole dooty a man to live to hundred and then not die."
"Nonsense, cut me my bit of leather, and let me go."
"Nay, sir, I can't stop to coot no leather to-day. I tellee I'm gooin'
to church."
"But what for?"
"Clock's stopped."
"Eh! Has it?" cried Vane eagerly. "What's the matter with it?"
"I d'know sir. Somethin' wrong in its inside, I spect. I'm gooing to
see."
"Forgotten to wind it up, Mike."
"Nay, that I arn't, sir. Wound her up tight enew."
"Then that's it. Wound up too tight, perhaps."
"Nay, she's been wound up just the same as I've wound her these
five-and-twenty year, just as father used to. She's wrong inside."
"Goes stiff. Wants a little oil. Bring some in a bottle with a feather
and I'll soon put it right."
The sexton pointed with his hammer to the chimney-piece where a small
phial bottle was standing, and Vane took it up at once, and began
turning a white fowl's feather round to stir up the oil.
"You mean to come, then?" said the sexton.
"Of course. I'm fond of machinery," cried Vane.
"Ay, you be," said the sexton, tapping away at the nails, "and you'd
like to tak' that owd clock all to pieces, I know."
"I should," cried Vane with his eyes sparkling. "Shall I?"
"What?" cried the sexton, with his hammer raised. "Why, you'd never get
it put together again."
"Tchah! that I could. I would somehow," added the lad. "Ay somehow;
but what's the good o' that! Suppose she wouldn't goo when you'd putt
her together somehow. What then?"
"Why, she won't go now," cried Vane, "so what harm would it do?"
"Well, I don't know about that," said the sexton, driving in the last
nail, and pausing to admire the iron-decorated sole.
"Now, then, cut my piece of leather," cried Vane.
"Nay, I can't stop to coot no pieces o' leather," said the sexton.
"Church clock's more consekens than all the bits o' leather in a
tanner's yard. I'm gooing over yonder now."
"Oh, very well," said Vane, as the man rose, untied his leathern apron,
and put on a very ancient coat, "it will do when we come back."
"Mean to go wi' me, then?"
"Of course I do."
The sexton chuckled, took his hat from behind the door, and stepped out
on to the cobble-stone pathway, after taking the oil bottle and a bunch
of big keys from a nail.
The street looked as deserted as if the place were uninhabited, and not
a soul was passed as they went up to the church gate at the west end of
the ancient edifice, which had stood with its great square stone
fortified tower, dominating from a knoll the tiny town for five hundred
years--ever since the days when it was built to act as a stronghold to
which the Mavis Greythorpites could flee if assaulted by enemies, and
shoot arrows from the narrow windows and hurl stones from the
battlements. Or, if these were not sufficient, and the enemy proved to
be very enterprising indeed, so much so as to try and batter in the
hugely-thick iron-studded belfry-door, why there were those pleasant
openings called by architects machicolations, just over the entrance,
from which ladlesful of newly molten lead could be scattered upon their
heads.
Michael Chakes knew the bunch of keys by heart, but he always went
through the same ceremony--that of examining them all four, and blowing
in the tubes, as if they were panpipes, keeping the one he wanted to the
last.
"Oh, do make haste, Mike," cried the boy. "You are so slow."
"Slow and sewer's my motter, Mester Vane," grunted the sexton, as he
slowly inserted the key. "Don't you hurry no man's beast; you may hev
an ass of your own some day."
"If I do I'll make him go faster than you do. I say, though, Mike, do
you think it's true about those old bits of leather?"
As he spoke, Vane pointed to a couple of scraps of black-looking,
curl-edged hide, fastened with broad headed nails to the belfry-door.
"True!" cried the sexton, turning his grim, lined, and not over-clean
face to gaze in the frank-looking handsome countenance beside him.
"True! Think o' that now, and you going up to rectory every day, to do
your larning along with the other young gents, to Mester Syme. Well,
that beats all."
"What's that got to do with it?" cried Vane, as the sexton ceased from
turning the key in the door, and laid one hand on the scraps of hide.
"Got to do wi' it, lad? Well I am! And to call them leather."
"Well, so they are leather," said Vane. "And do you mean to say,
standing theer with the turn-stones all around you as you think anything
bout t'owd church arn't true?"
"No, but I don't think it's true about those bits of leather."
"Leather, indeed!" cried the sexton. "I'm surprised at you, Mester
Vane--that I am. Them arn't leather but all that's left o' the skins o'
the Swedums and Danes as they took off 'em and nailed up on church door
to keep off the rest o' the robbin', murderin' and firin' wretches as
come up river in their ships and then walked the rest o' the way across
the mash?"
"Oh, but it might be a bit of horse skin."
"Nay, nay, don't you go backslidin' and thinking such a thing as that,
mester. Why, theer was a party o' larned gentlemen come one day all
t'way fro' Lincoln, and looked at it through little tallerscope things,
and me standing close by all the time to see as they didn't steal nowt,
for them sort's terruble folk for knocking bits off wi' hammers as they
carries in their pockets and spreadin' bits o' calico over t' brasses,
and rubbin' 'em wi' heel balls same as I uses for edges of soles; and
first one and then another of 'em says--`Human.' That's what they says.
Ay, lad, that's true enough, and been here to this day."
"Ah, well, open the door, Mike, and let's go in. I don't believe people
would have been such wretches as to skin a man, even if he was a Dane,
and then nail the skin up there. But if they did, it wouldn't have
lasted."
The sexton shook his head very solemnly and turned the great key, the
rusty lock-bolt shooting back reluctantly, and the door turning slowly
on its hinges, which gave forth a dismal creak.
"Here, let's give them a drop of oil," cried Vane; but the sexton held
the bottle behind him.
"Nay, nay," he said; "they're all right enew. Let 'em be, lad."
"How silent it seems without the old clock ticking," said Vane, looking
up at the groined roof where, in place of bosses to ornament the
handsome old ceiling of the belfry, there were circular holes intended
to pour more lead and arrows upon besiegers, in case they made their way
through the door, farther progress being through a narrow lancet archway
and up an extremely small stone spiral staircase toward which Vane
stepped, but the sexton checked him.
"Nay, Mester, I go first," he said.
"Look sharp then."
But the only thing sharp about the sexton were his awls and cutting
knives, and he took an unconscionably long time to ascend to the floor
above them where an opening in the staircase admitted them to a square
chamber, lighted by four narrow lancet windows, and into which hung down
from the ceiling, and through as many holes, eight ropes, portions of
which were covered with worsted to soften them to the ringers' hands.
Vane made a rush for the rope of the tenor bell, but the sexton uttered
a cry of horror.
"Nay, nay, lad," he said, as soon as he got his breath, "don't pull:
'twould make 'em think there's a fire."
"Oh, all right," said Vane, leaving the rope.
"Nay, promise as you weant touch 'em, or I weant go no further."
"I promise," cried Vane merrily. "Now, then, up you go to the clock."
The sexton looked relieved, and went to a broad cupboard at one side of
the chamber, opened it, and there before them was the great pendulum of
the old clock hanging straight down, and upon its being started
swinging, it did so, but with no answering _tic-tac_.
"Where are the weights, Mike?" cried Vane, thrusting in his head, and
looking up. "Oh, I see them."
"Ay, you can see 'em, lad, wound right up. There, let's go and see."
The sexton led the way up to the next floor, but here they were stopped
by a door, which was slowly opened after he had played his tune upon the
key pipes.
"Oh I say, Mike, what a horrible old bore you are," cried the boy,
impatiently.
"Then thou shouldstna hev coom, lad," said the sexton as they stood now
in a chamber through which the bell ropes passed and away up through
eight more holes in the next ceiling, while right in the middle stood
the skeleton works of the great clock, with all its wheels and
escapements open to the boy's eager gaze, as he noted everything, from
the portion which went out horizontally through the wall to turn the
hands on the clock's face, to the part where the pendulum hung, and on
either side the two great weights which set the machine in motion, and
ruled the striking of the hours.
The clock was screwed down to a frame-work of oaken beams, and looked,
in spite of its great age and accumulation of dust, in the best of
condition, and, to the sexton's horror, Vane forgot all about the eight
big bells overhead, and the roof of the tower, from which there was a
magnificent view over the wolds, and stripped off his jacket.
"What are you going to do, lad?" cried the sexton.
"See what's the matter. Why the clock won't go."
"Nay, nay, thou must na touch it, lad. Why, it's more than my plaace is
worth to let anny one else touch that theer clock."
"Oh, nonsense! Here, give me the oil."
Vane snatched the bottle, and while the sexton looked on, trembling at
the sacrilege, as it seemed to him, the lad busily oiled every bearing
that he could reach, and used the oil so liberally that at last there
was not a drop left, and he ceased his task with a sigh.
"There, Mike, she'll go now," he cried. "Can't say I've done any harm."
"Nay, I wean't say that you hev, mester, for I've been standing ready to
stop you if you did."
Vane laughed.
"Now, then, start the pendulum," he said; "and then put the hands
right."
He went to the side to start the swinging regulator himself but the
sexton again stopped him.
"Nay," he said; "that's my job, lad;" and very slowly and cautiously he
set the bob in motion.
"There, I told you so," cried Vane; "only wanted a drop of oil."
For the pendulum swung _tic_--_tac_--_tic_--_tac_ with beautiful
regularity. Then, as they listened it went _tic_--_tic_. Then _tic_
two or three times over, and there was no more sound.
"Didn't start it hard enough, Mike," cried Vane; and this time, to the
sexton's horror, he gave the pendulum a good swing, the regular
_tic_--_tac_ followed, grew feeble, stopped, and there was an outburst
as if of uncanny laughter from overhead, so real that it was hard to
think that it was only a flock of jackdaws just settled on the
battlements of the tower.
"Oh, come, I'm not going to be beaten like this," cried Vane, "I know I
can put the old clock right."
"Nay, nay, not you," said the sexton firmly.
"But I took our kitchen clock to pieces, and put it together again; and
now it goes splendidly--only it doesn't strike right."
"Mebbe," said the sexton, "but this arn't a kitchen clock. Nay, Master
Vane, the man 'll hev to come fro Lincun to doctor she."
"But let me just--"
"Nay, nay, you don't touch her again."
The man was so firm that Vane had to give way and descend, forgetting
all about the piece of leather he wanted, and parting from the sexton at
the door as the key was turned, and then walking back home, to go at
once to his workshop and sit down to think.
There was plenty for him to do--any number of mechanical contrivances to
go on with, notably the one intended to move a boat without oars, sails,
or steam, but they were not church clocks, and for the time being
nothing interested him but the old clock whose hands were pointing
absurdly as to the correct time.
All at once a thought struck Vane, and he jumped up, thrust a pair of
pliers, a little screw-wrench and a pair of pincers into his pockets and
went out again.