he 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 a