This was a good sign, the clerk thought, and grasped his thick stick with vigour.
With a loud shout, he and the others rushed into the ringers’ room, lanterns in hand.
At that moment the bells, this time unmuffled, gave out a most horrible, clanging sound.
The clerk started back in fright towards the door, and hastily turned on his light.
He and the rest groaned most dolefully, for, there, standing before them, were eight Skeletons, each with a rope in his hand, and, while pulling away most vigorously, grinned most diabolically at the intruders.
The clerk and his friends would have given all the money in Walton to have been a mile or more away.
But there they were, unable to stir, wriggling and writhing, and knowing not which way to retreat, or what to do.
“Oh! mercy on us,” said the clerk, almost distilled to a jelly. “Why, it’s some of the Skeleton Crew; they have changed from a funeral to a joy peal.”
“What can all this horrid thing mean?” said another.
“Mean? Ha! ha!” gruffly laughed one of the skeletons, in a voice that made the entrapped villagers quake again. “Mean, eh? Why, it means that we are so glad to see you, that’s all. We wanted some amusement.”