CHAPTER IX 



THE NEW COTTAGE 



This winter we lost an old friend from amongst 

 the village community. For twenty years the 

 little tinkling down church bell was rung by him 

 each Sunday. If he ever failed to do so, it was 

 because a heavy bronchial cold kept him indoors, 

 or, as the old people would more graphically 

 describe it, " because his breath was bad, he could 

 not walk so far." 



When one mentions the death of our sexton to 

 a friend, the prompt reply is " Yes, we all miss 

 old Richard, and probably as time goes on we 

 shall do so more and more. He was a quiet fellow 

 who never said much, but when need arose he was 

 firm and positive about those things that he 

 thought were right." 



No other bell-ringer will ever hold quite the 

 same honoured position amongst us. There was 

 a sense of duty unfailingly adhered to that sur- 

 rounded like a halo that small head of sandy- 

 coloured hair and the kindly, weather-beaten, 

 smiling face. As I enter the high, vaulted vesti- 

 bule that leads into church, I shall always see in 

 imagination his little slender, bent figure, with its 

 two arms outstretched clutching high up the stout 



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