ng the Blessing. So he and the
sacristan have gone up in the tower to see what can be done about it."

"Shall I come and help?" Guy suggested.

"You won't be able to do any more than they will," said Margaret,
laughing. "But if you want to come and help, you'd better. Hasn't your
canoe arrived yet?"

Guy shook his head.

"It's such a glorious morning that I could almost swim the river," he
declared.

"Oh, Margaret, don't let him," Pauline exclaimed.

Guy said he would be in the churchyard before they were back in Rectory
Lane to meet him, and with Bob barking at his heels he ran at full speed
through the orchard, through the garden, over the bridge, and down
Rectory Lane just as the two girls reached the lych-gate. They all went
into the big church, even Bob, though he slunk at their heels as
modestly as might the devil. High up over the chancel they could see the
Rector and the shiny-pated sacristan leaning from the windows of the
bell-ringer's chamber and scratching with wands at some blind arches
where bats might most improbably lurk.

"Let's go to the top of the tower," Guy proposed.

"Father isn't on the top of the tower," said Margaret. "But you go up
with Pauline. I'll wait for you."

So Guy and Pauline went through a low door beaked by Normans centuries
ago, and climbed the stone stairs until they reached the bell-ringer's
chamber, where they paused to greet the Rector, who waved a vague arm in
greeting. The stairs grew more narrow and musty as they went higher; but
all the way at intervals there were deep slits in the walls, framing
thin pictures of the outspread country below the tower. Still up they
went past the bell-ropes, past the great bells themselves that hung like
a cluster of mighty fruit, until finally they came out through a small
turret to meet the March sky. The spire, that rose as high again as they
had already come, occupied nearly all the space and left only a yard of
leaded roof on which to walk; but even so, up here where the breeze blew
strongly, they seemed to stand in the very course of the clouds with the
world at their feet. Northward they looked across the brown mill-stream;
across Guy's green orchard; across the flashing tributary beyond the
meadows, to where the Shipcot road climbed the side of the wold.
Westward they looked to Plashers Mead and Miss Peasey flapping a
table-cloth; to Guy's mazy garden and the gray wall under the limes; and
farther to the tree-tops of Wychfo