CLERK AND THE LAST RAVENS 249 



to be the one clear articulate voice amidst the con- 

 fused gabble of the others, all apparently anxious 

 to get on and finish the tedious business of public 

 worship as quickly as possible. When the Psalms 

 were read I tried, as an experiment, by beginning the 

 instant the minister ceased and rattling off the words 

 as fast as I could to keep up with the others, but 

 invariably I finished some words behind. They had 

 practised the trick too long for an outsider accustomed 

 to a different method. But he, the old parish clerk, 

 had never allowed himself to be carried away by the 

 torrent: his father had taught him to go slowly, and 

 slowly he would go to the end of the chapter, in the 

 old ancient way: in a clear high but quavering voice, 

 he distinctly enunciated each word, each syllable, in 

 a measured way, finishing solemnly a good many 

 words after the congregation. The congregation had, 

 so to speak, thrown him off, or run away from him, 

 but he would not give in and gabble or slur anything; 

 he plodded religiously on, unregarded but doing his 

 own part of the service decently and in order, under 

 great difficulties. 



For me, a stranger and hater of gabblers, his 

 presence had made the service endurable, and I was 

 glad to make his acquaintance. It was easily made 

 on a week day: dressed in his frayed and discoloured 

 old clothes that hung like sacks about him and rusty 

 shapeless hat, he was the most familiar figure in the 

 village, in appearance an animated scarecrow. He 

 was also the busiest man there. He kept fowls and 

 grew fruit and vegetables in his cottage garden and 



