Part 11 (1/2)

”No need to box him for that,” resented the wife. ”The bell is ringing, and I'll be bound the boy's right enough. One of them masons must have fallen asleep in the day, and has just woke up to find himself shut in. Hope he likes his berth!”

Whatever it might be, ringing the bell, whether magic or mason, of course it must be seen to; and the s.e.xton hastened out, the cathedral keys in his hand. He bent his steps towards the front entrance, pa.s.sing the cloisters, which, as he knew, would be locked at that hour. ”And that bear of a Ketch won't hurry himself to unlock them,” soliloquized he.

He found the front gates surrounded. The bell had struck upon the wondering ears of many living within the precincts of the cathedral, who flocked out to ascertain the reason. Amongst others, the college boys were coming up in troops.

”Now, good people, please--by your leave!” cried the s.e.xton. ”Let me get to the gates.”

They made way for the man and his ponderous keys, and entrance to the college was gained. The s.e.xton was beginning a sharp reproof to the ”mason,” and the crowd preparing a chorus to it, when they were seized with consternation, and fell back on each other's toes. It was the Bishop of Helstonleigh, in his laced-up hat and ap.r.o.n, who walked forth.

The s.e.xton humbly s.n.a.t.c.hed off his hat; the college boys raised their trenchers.

”Thank you all for coming to the rescue,” said the bishop, in a pleasant tone. ”It was not an agreeable situation, to be locked in the cathedral.”

”My lord,” stammered the s.e.xton, in awe-struck dread, as to whether he had unwittingly been the culprit: ”how did your lords.h.i.+p get locked in?”

”That is what we must inquire into,” replied the bishop.

The next to hobble out was Ketch. In his own fas.h.i.+on, almost ignoring the presence of the bishop, he made known the tale. It was received with ridicule. The college boys especially cast mockery upon it, and began dancing a jig when the bishop's back was turned. ”Let a couple of keys drop down, and, when picked up, you found them transmogrified into old rusty machines, made in the year one!” cried Bywater. ”_That's_ very like a whale, Ketch!”

Ketch tore off to his lodge, as fast as his lumbago allowed him, calling upon the crowd to come and look at the nail where the keys always hung, except when in use, and holding out the rusty dissemblers for public view, in a furious pa.s.sion.

He dashed open the door. The college boys, pus.h.i.+ng before the crowd, and following on the bishop's heels--who had probably his own reasons for wis.h.i.+ng to see the solution of the affair--thronged into the lodge. ”There's the nail, my lord, and there--”

Ketch stopped, dumbfounded. On the nail, hanging by the string, as quietly as if they had hung for ages, were the cloister keys. Ketch rubbed his eyes, and stared, and rubbed again. The bishop smiled.

”I told you, Ketch, I thought you must be mistaken, in supposing you brought the proper keys out.”

Ketch burst into a wail of anger and deprecation. He had took out the right keys, and Jenkins could bear him out in the a.s.sertion. Some wicked trick had been played upon him, and the keys brought back during his absence and hung up on their hook! He'd lay his life it was the college boys!

The bishop turned his eyes on those young gentlemen. But nothing could be more innocent than their countenances, as they stood before him in their trenchers. Rather too innocent, perhaps: and the bishop's eyes twinkled, and a half-smile crossed his lips; but he made no sign. Well would it be if all the clergy were as sweet-tempered as that Bishop of Helstonleigh!

”Well, Ketch, take care of your keys for the future,” was all he said, as he walked away. ”Good night, boys.”

”Good night to your lords.h.i.+p,” replied the boys, once more raising their trenchers; and the crowd, outside, respectfully saluted their prelate, who returned it in kind.

”What are you waiting for, Thorpe?” the bishop demanded, when he found the s.e.xton was still at the great gates, holding them about an inch open.

”For Jenkins, my lord,” was the reply. ”Ketch said he was also locked in.”

”Certainly he was,” replied the bishop. ”Has he not come forth?”

”That he has not, my lord. I have let n.o.body whatever out except your lords.h.i.+p and the porter. I have called out to him, but he does not answer, and does not come.”

”He went up into the organ-loft in search of a candle and matches,” remarked the bishop. ”You had better go after him, Thorpe. He may not know that the doors are open.”

The bishop left, crossing over to the palace. Thorpe, calling one of the old bedesmen, some of whom had then come up, left him in charge of the gate, and did as he was ordered. He descended the steps, pa.s.sed through the wide doors, and groped his way in the dark towards the choir.

”Jenkins!”

There was no answer.

”Jenkins!” he called out again.

Still there was no answer: except the sound of the s.e.xton's own voice as it echoed in the silence of the large edifice.

”Well, this is an odd go!” exclaimed Thorpe, as he leaned against a pillar and surveyed the darkness of the cathedral. ”He can't have melted away into a ghost, or dropped down into the crypt among the coffins. Jenkins, I say!”

With a word of impatience at the continued silence, the s.e.xton returned to the entrance gates. All that could be done was to get a light and search for him.

They procured a lantern, Ketch ungraciously supplying it; and the s.e.xton, taking two or three of the spectators with him, proceeded to the search. ”He has gone to sleep in the organ-loft, that is what he has done,” cried Thorpe, making known what the bishop had said.

Alas! Jenkins had not gone to sleep. At the foot of the steps, leading to the organ-loft, they came upon him. He was lying there insensible, blood oozing from a wound in the forehead. How had it come about? What had caused it?

Meanwhile, the college boys, after driving Mr. Ketch nearly wild with their jokes and ridicule touching the mystery of the keys, were scared by the sudden appearance of the head-master. They decamped as fast as their legs could carry them, bringing themselves to an anchor at a safe distance, under shade of the friendly elm trees. Bywater stuck his back against one, and his laughter came forth in peals. Some of the rest tried to stop it, whispering caution.

”It's of no good talking, you fellows! I can't keep it in; I shall burst if I try. I have been at bursting point ever since I twitched the keys out of his hands in the cloisters, and threw the rusty ones down. You see I was right--that it was best for one of us to go in without our boots, and to wait. If half a dozen had gone, we should never have got away unheard.”

”I pretty nearly burst when I saw the bishop come out, instead of Ketch,” cried Tod Yorke. ”Burst with fright.”

”So did a few more of us,” said Galloway. ”I say, will there be a row?”

”Goodness knows! He is a kind old chap is the bishop. Better for it to have been him than the dean.”

”What was it Ketch said, about Jenkins seeing a glowworm?”

”Oh!” shrieked Bywater, holding his sides, ”that was the best of all! I had taken a lucifer out of my pocket, playing with it, while they went round to the south gate, and it suddenly struck fire. I threw it over to the burial-ground: and that soft Jenkins took it for a glowworm.”

”It's a stunning go!” emphatically concluded Mr. Tod Yorke. ”The best we have had this half, yet.”

”Hush--sh--sh--s.h.!.+” whispered the boys under their breath. ”There goes the master.”

CHAPTER XIII.

MAD NANCE.

Mr. Galloway was in his office. Mr. Galloway was fuming and fretting at the non-arrival of his clerk, Mr. Jenkins. Mr. Jenkins was a punctual man; in fact, more than punctual: his proper time for arriving at the office was half-past nine; but the cathedral clock had rarely struck the quarter-past before Mr. Jenkins would be at his post. Almost any other morning it would not have mattered a straw to Mr. Galloway whether Jenkins was a little after or a little before his time; but on this particular morning he had especial need of him, and had come himself to the office unusually early.

One-two, three-four! chimed the quarters of the cathedral. ”There it goes--half-past nine!” e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Mr. Galloway. ”What does Jenkins mean by it? He knew he was wanted early.”

A sharp knock at the office door, and there entered a little dark woman, in a black bonnet and a beard. She was Mr. Jenkins's better half, and had the reputation for being considerably the grey mare.

”Good morning, Mr. Galloway. A pretty kettle of fish, this is!”

”What's the matter now?” asked Mr. Galloway, surprised at the address. ”Where's Jenkins?”

”Jenkins is in bed with his head plastered up. He's the greatest b.o.o.by living, and would positively have come here all the same, but I told him I'd strap him down with cords if he attempted it. A pretty object he'd have looked, staggering through the streets, with his head big enough for two, and held together with white plaster!”