As Vane walked along the road the tools in his pocket rattled, and they
set him thinking about Mr Deering, and how serious he had made his
uncle look for a few days. Then about all their visitor had said about
flying, and that set him wondering whether it would be possible to
contrive something which might easily be tested.
"I could go up on to the leads of the tower, step off and float down
into the churchyard."
Vane suddenly burst out laughing.
"Why, if I had said that yonder," he thought, "old Macey would tell me
that it would be just in the right place, for I should be sure to break
my neck."
Then he began thinking about Bruff the gardener, for he passed his
cottage; and about his coming to work the next day after being ill, and
never saying another word about the chanterelles.
Directly after his thoughts turned in another direction, for he came
upon the two gipsy lads, seated under the hedge, with their legs in the
ditch, proof positive that the people of their tribe were somewhere not
very far away.
The lads stared at him very hard, and Vane stared back at them, thinking
what a curious life it seemed--for two big strong boys to be always
hanging about, doing nothing but drive a few miserable worn-out horses
from fair to fair.
Just as he was abreast of the lads, one whispered something to the
other, but what it was Vane could not understand, for it sounded mere
gibberish.
Then the other replied, without moving his head, and Vane passed on.
"I don't believe it's a regular language they talk," he said to himself.
"Only a lot of slang words they've made up. What do they call it?
Rum--Rum--Romany, that is it. Well, it doesn't sound Roman-like to me."
About a hundred yards on he looked back, to see that the two gipsy lads
were in eager converse, and one was gesticulating so fiercely, that it
looked like quarrelling.
But Vane had something else to think about, and he went on, holding the
tools inside his pockets, to keep them from clicking together as he
turned up toward the rectory, just catching sight of the gipsy lads
again, now out in the road and slouching along toward the town.
"Wonder whether Mr Symes is at home again," thought Vane, but he did
not expect that he would be, as it was his hour for being from the
rectory, perhaps having a drive, so that he felt pretty easy about him.
But he kept a sharp look-out for Gilmore and the others.
"Hardly likely for them to be in," he thought; and then he felt annoyed
with himself because his visit seemed furtive and deceptive.
As a rule, he walked up to the front of the house, feeling quite at
home, and as if he were one of its inmates, whereas now there was the
feeling upon him that he had no business to go upon his present mission,
and that the first person he met would ask him what right he had to come
sneaking up there with tools in his pockets.
For a moment he thought he would go back, but he mastered that, and went
on, only to hesitate once more, feeling sure that he had heard faintly
the rector's peculiar clearing of his voice--"Hah-errum!"
His active brain immediately raised up the portly figure of his tutor
before him, raising his eyebrows, and questioning him about why he was
there; but these thoughts were chased away directly after, as he came to
an opening in the trees, through which he could look right away to where
the river went winding along through the meadows, edged with pollard
willows, and there, quite half-a-mile away, he could see a solitary
figure standing close to the stream.
"That's old Macey," muttered Vane, "fishing for perch in his favourite
hole."
Feeling pretty certain that the others would not be far away, he stood
peering about till he caught sight of another figure away to his right.
"Gilmore surely," he muttered; and then his eyes wandered again till
they lighted upon a figure seated at the foot of a tree close by the one
he had settled to be Gilmore.
"Old Distie," said Vane, with a laugh. "What an idle fellow he is.
Never happy unless he is sitting or lying down somewhere. I suppose
it's from coming out of a hot country, where people do lie about a great
deal."
"That's all right," he thought, "they will not bother me, and I needn't
mind, for it's pretty good proof that the rector is out."
Feeling fresh confidence at this, but, at the same time, horribly
annoyed with himself because of the shrinking feeling which troubled
him, he went straight up the path to the porch and rang.
Joseph, the rector's footman, came hurrying into the hall, pulling down
the sides of his coat, and looked surprised and injured on seeing that
it was only one of "Master's pupils."
"I only wanted the keys of the church, Joe," said Vane, carelessly.
"There they hang, sir," replied the man, pointing to a niche in the
porch.
"Yes, I know, but I didn't like to take them without speaking," said
Vane; and the next minute he was on his way to the churchyard through
the rectory garden, hugging the duplicate keys in his pocket, and
satisfied that he could reach the belfry-door without being seen by the
sexton.
It was easy enough to get there unseen. Whether he could open the door
unheard was another thing.
There was no examining each key in turn, and no whistling in the pipes,
but the right one chosen at once and thrust in.
"_Tah_!" came from overhead loudly; and Vane started back, when quite a
chorus arose, and the flock of jackdaws flew away, as if rejoicing at
mocking one who was bent upon a clandestine visit to the church.
"How stupid!" muttered Vane; but he gave a sharp glance round to see if
he were observed before turning the key, and throwing open the door.
"Why didn't he let me oil it?" he muttered, for the noise seemed to be
twice as loud now, and after dragging out the key the noise was louder
still, he thought, as he thrust to the door, and locked it on the
inside.
Then, as he withdrew the key again, he hesitated and stood listening.
Everything look strange and dim, and he felt half disposed to draw back,
but laughing to himself at his want of firmness, he ran up the winding
stairs again, as fast as the worn stones would let him, passed the
ringers' chamber, and went on up to the locked door, which creaked
dismally, as he threw it open. The next moment he was by the clock.
But he did not pause here. Drawing back into the winding staircase he
ascended to where the bells hung, and had a good look at the one with
the hammer by it--that on which the clock struck the hours--noted how
green it was with verdigris, and then hurried down to the clock-chamber,
took out his tools, pulled off his jacket and set to work.
For there was this peculiarity about the doctor's nephew--that he gave
the whole of his mind and energies to any mechanical task which took his
fancy, and, consequently, there was neither mind nor energy left to
bestow upon collateral circumstances.
Another boy would have had a thought for the consequences of what he was
attempting--whether it was right for him to meddle, whether the rector
would approve. Vane had not even the vestige of a thought on such
matters. He could only see wheels and pinions taken out after the
removal of certain screws, cleaned, oiled, put back, and the old clock
pointing correctly to the time of day and, striking decently and in
order, as a church clock should.
Pincers, pliers and screw-driver were laid on the floor and the
screw-wrench was applied here and there, after which a cloth or rag was
required to wipe the different wheels, and pivots; but unfortunately
nothing of the kind was at hand, so a clean pocket-handkerchief was
utilised, not to its advantage--and the work went on.
Vane's face was a study as he used his penknife to scrape and pare off
hardened oil, which clogged the various bearings; and as some pieces of
the clock, iron or brass, was restored to its proper condition of
brightness, the lad smiled and looked triumphant.
Time went on, though that clock stood still, and all at once, as he set
down a wheel and began wishing that he had some one to help him remove
the weights, it suddenly dawned upon him that it was getting towards
sunset, that he had forgotten all about his dinner, and that if he
wanted any tea, he must rapidly replace the wheels he had taken out, and
screw the frame-work back which he had removed.
He had been working at the striking part of the clock, and he set to at
once building up again, shaking his head the while at the parts he had
not cleaned, having been unable to remove them on account of the line
coiled round a drum and attached to a striking weight.
"A clockmaker would have had that weight off first thing, I suppose," he
said to himself, as he toiled away. "I'll get Aleck to come and help me
to-morrow and do it properly, while I'm about it."
"It's easy enough," he said half-aloud at the end of an hour. "I
believe I could make a clock in time if I tried. There you are," he
muttered as he turned the final screw that he had removed. "Hullo, what
a mess I'm in!"
He looked at his black and oily hands, and began thinking of soap and
soda with hot-water as he rose from his knees after gathering up his
tools, and then he stopped staring before him at a ledge beneath the
back of the clock face.
"Why, I forgot them," he said, taking from where they lay a couple of
small cogged wheels which he had cleaned very carefully, and put on one
side early in his task.
"Where do they belong to?" he muttered, as he looked from them to the
clock and back again.
There seemed to be nothing missing: every part fitted together, but it
was plain enough that these two wheels had been left out, and that to
find out where they belonged and put them back meant a serious task gone
over again.
"Well, you two will have to wait," said the boy at last. "It doesn't so
much matter as I'm going to take the clock to pieces again, but all the
same, I don't like missing them."
He hesitated for a few moments, as to what he should do with the wheels,
and ended by reaching in and laying them just beneath the works on one
of the squared pieces of oak to which the clock was screwed.
Ten minutes later he was at the rectory porch, where he hung up the keys
just inside the hall, and then trotted home with his hands in his
pockets to hide their colour.
He was obliged to show them in the kitchen though, where he went to beg
a jug of hot-water and some soda.
"Why, where have you been, sir?" cried Martha; "and the dinner kept
waiting a whole hour, and orders from your aunt to broil chicken for
your tea, as if there wasn't enough to do, and some soda? I haven't got
any."
"But you've got some, cookie," said Vane.
"Not a bit, if you speak to me in that disrespectful way, sir. My
name's Martha, if you please. Well, there's a bit, but how a young
gentleman can go on as you do making his hands like a sweep's I don't
know, and if I was your aunt I'd--"
Vane did not hear what, for he had hurried away with the hot-water and
soda, the odour of the kitchen having had a maddening effect upon him,
and set him thinking ravenously of the dinner he had missed and the
grilled chicken to come.
But there was no reproof for him when, clean and decent once more, he
sought the dining-room. Aunt Hannah shook her head, but smiled as she
made the tea, and kissed him as he went to her side.
"Why, Vane, my dear, you must be starving," she whispered. But his
uncle was deep in thought over some horticultural problem and did not
seem to have missed him. He roused up, though, over the evening meal,
while Vane was trying to hide his nails, which in spite of all his
efforts looked exceedingly black and like a smith's.
It was the appetising odour of the grilled chicken that roused the
doctor most, for after sipping his tea and partaking of one piece of
toast he gave a very loud sniff and began to look round the table.
Vane's plate and the dish before him at once took his attention.
"Meat tea?" he said smiling pleasantly. "Dear me! and I was under the
impression that we had had dinner just as usual. Come, Vane, my boy,
don't be greedy. Remember your aunt; and I'll take a little of that.
It smells very good."
"But, my dear, you had your dinner, and Vane was not there," cried Aunt
Hannah.
"Oh! bless my heart, yes," said the doctor. "Really I had quite
forgotten all about it."
"Hold your plate, uncle," cried Vane.
"Oh, no, thank you, my boy. It was all a mistake, I was thinking about
the greenhouse, my dear, you know that the old flue is worn-out, and
really something must be done to heat it."
"Oh, never mind that," said Aunt Hannah, but Vane pricked up his ears.
"But I must mind it, my dear," said the doctor. "It does not matter
now, but the cold weather will come, and it would be a pity to have the
choice plants destroyed."
"I think it is not worth the trouble," said Aunt Hannah. "See how
tiresome it is for someone to be obliged to come to see to that fire
late on cold winter nights."
"There can be no pleasure enjoyed, my dear, without some trouble," said
the doctor. "It is tiresome, I know, all that stoking and poking when
the glass is below freezing point, and once more, I say I wish there
could be some contrivance for heating the greenhouse without farther
trouble."
Vane pricked up his ears again, and for a few moments his uncle's words
seemed about to take root; but those wheels rolled into his mind
directly after, and he was wondering where they could belong to, and how
it was that he had not missed them when he put the others back.
Then the grilled chicken interfered with his power of thinking, and the
greenhouse quite passed away.
The evenings at the Little Manor House were very quiet, as a rule. The
doctor sat and thought, or read medical or horticultural papers; Aunt
Hannah sat and knitted or embroidered and kept looking up to nod at Vane
in an encouraging way as he was busy over his classics or mathematics,
getting ready for reading with the rector next day; and the big cat
blinked at the fire from the hearthrug.
But, on this particular night, Vane hurried through the paper he had to
prepare for the next day, and fetched out of the book-cases two or three
works which gave a little information on horology, and he was soon deep
in toothed-wheels, crown-wheels, pinions, ratchets, pallets,
escapements, free, detached, anchor, and half-dead. Then he read on
about racks, and snails; weights, pendulums, bobs, and compensations.
Reading all this was not only interesting, but gave the idea that taking
a clock to pieces and putting it together again was remarkably easy; but
there was no explanation about those missing wheels.
Bedtime at last, and Vane had another scrub with the nail-brush at his
hands before lying down.
It was a lovely night, nearly full-moon, and the room looked so light
after the candle was out that Vane gave it the credit of keeping him
awake. For, try how he would, he could not get to sleep. Now he was on
his right side, but the pillow grew hot and had to be turned; now on his
left, with the pillow turned back. Too many clothes, and the
counterpane stripped back. Not enough: his uncle always said that
warmth was conducive to sleep, and the counterpane pulled up. But no
sleep.
"Oh, how wakeful I do feel!" muttered the boy impatiently, as he tossed
from side to side. "Is it the chicken?"
No; it was not the chicken, but the church clock, and those two wheels,
which kept on going round and round in his mind without cessation. He
tried to think of something else: his studies, Greek, Latin, the
mathematical problems upon which he was engaged; but, no: ratchets and
pinions, toothed-wheels, free and detached, pendulums and weights, had
it all their own way, and at last he jumped out of bed, opened the
window and stood there, looking out, and cooling his heated, weary head
for a time.
"Now I can sleep," he said to himself, triumphantly, as he returned to
his bed; but he was wrong, and a quarter of an hour after he was at the
washstand, pouring himself out a glass of water, which he drank.
That did have some effect, for at last he dropped off into a fitful
unrefreshing sleep, to be mentally borne at once into the chamber of the
big stone tower, with the clockwork tumbled about in heaps all round
him; and he vainly trying to catch the toothed-wheels, which kept
running round and round, while the clock began to strike.
Vane started up in bed, for the dream seemed real--the clock was
striking.
No: that was not a clock striking, but one of the bells, tolling rapidly
in the middle of the night.
For a moment the lad thought he was asleep, but the next he had sprung
out of bed and run to the window to thrust out his head and listen.
It was unmistakable: the big bell was going as he had never heard it
before--not being rung, but as if someone had hold of the clapper and
were beating it against the side--_Dang, dang, dang, dang_--stroke
following stroke rapidly; and, half-confused by the sleep from which he
had been awakened, Vane was trying to make out what it meant, when
faintly, but plainly heard on the still night air, came that most
startling of cries--
"Fire! Fire! Fire!"