132 More Tales of the Birds 



stone-throwing. The churchyard was overgrown 

 and untidy, and the porch unswept, and the old 

 oaken doors were crazy on their hinges. Inside 

 you saw ancient and beautiful woodwork 

 crumbling away, old tiles cracking under the 

 wear and tear of iron-heeled boots and old 

 dames' pattens, and cobwebs and spiders de- 

 scending from the groined roof upon your prayer- 

 book. If you went up the spiral staircase into 

 the ringers' chamber, you would see names 

 written on the wall, two or three empty bottles, 

 and traces of banquets enjoyed after the clock had 

 struck and the peal ceased, banquets of which 

 the Doctor and his wife occasionally partook, 

 coming in through that unglazed lancet window 

 when all was still. 



The church indeed was mouldy enough, and 

 the air within it was close and sleep-giving : and 

 as the old parson murmured his sermon twice a 

 Sunday from the high old pulpit, his hearers 

 gradually dropped into a tranquil doze or a 

 pleasant day-dream, all except the old Scholar, 

 who sat just below, holding his hand to his ear, 

 and eagerly looking for one of those subtle 



