“Ay, you be,” said the sexton, tapping away at the nails, “and you’d like to tak’ that owd clock all to pieces, I know.”
“I should,” cried Vane with his eyes sparkling. “Shall I?”
“What?” cried the sexton, with his hammer raised. “Why, you’d never get it put together again.”
“Tchah! that I could. I would somehow,” added the lad. “Ay somehow; but what’s the good o’ that! Suppose she wouldn’t goo when you’d putt her together somehow. What then?”
“Why, she won’t go now,” cried Vane, “so what harm would it do?”
“Well, I don’t know about that,” said the sexton, driving in the last nail, and pausing to admire the iron-decorated sole.
“Now, then, cut my piece of leather,” cried Vane.
“Nay, I can’t stop to coot no pieces o’ leather,” said the sexton. “Church clock’s more consekens than all the bits o’ leather in a tanner’s yard. I’m gooing over yonder now.”
“Oh, very well,” said Vane, as the man rose, untied his leathern apron, and put on a very ancient coat, “it will do when we come back.”
“Mean to go wi’ me, then?”