e. But whether worse or not, this storm was a
weighty matter enough for me, and turned the course of my life, as you
shall hear.

I have said that the waters came up so high that the church stood out
like an island; but they went back quickly, and Mr. Glennie was able to
hold service on the next Sunday morning. Few enough folks came to
Moonfleet Church at any time; but fewer still came that morning, for
the meadows between the village and the churchyard were wet and miry
from the water. There were streamers of seaweed tangled about the very
tombstones, and against the outside of the churchyard wall was piled up
a great bank of it, from which came a salt rancid smell like a
guillemot's egg that is always in the air after a south-westerly gale
has strewn the shore with wrack.

This church is as large as any other I have seen, and divided into two
parts with a stone screen across the middle. Perhaps Moonfleet was once a
large place, and then likely enough there were people to fill such a
church, but never since I knew it did anyone worship in that part called
the nave. This western portion was quite empty beyond a few old tombs and
a Royal Arms of Queen Anne; the pavement too was damp and mossy; and
there were green patches down the white walls where the rains had got in.
So the handful of people that came to church were glad enough to get the
other side of the screen in the chancel, where at least the pew floors
were boarded over, and the panelling of oak-work kept off the draughts.

Now this Sunday morning there were only three or four, I think, beside
Mr. Glennie and Ratsey and the half-dozen of us boys, who crossed the
swampy meadows strewn with drowned shrew-mice and moles. Even my aunt was
not at church, being prevented by a migraine, but a surprise waited those
who did go, for there in a pew by himself sat Elzevir Block. The people
stared at him as they came in, for no one had ever known him go to church
before; some saying in the village that he was a Catholic, and others an
infidel. However that may be, there he was this day, wishing perhaps to
show a favour to the parson who had written the verses for David's
headstone. He took no notice of anyone, nor exchanged greetings with
those that came in, as was the fashion in Moonfleet Church, but kept his
eyes fixed on a prayer-book which he held in his hand, though he could
not be following the minister, for he never turned the leaf.

The church was so damp from the