Vane snatched the bottle, and while the sexton looked on, trembling at the sacrilege, as it seemed to him, the lad busily oiled every bearing that he could reach, and used the oil so liberally that at last there was not a drop left, and he ceased his task with a sigh.
“There, Mike, she’ll go now,” he cried. “Can’t say I’ve done any harm.”
“Nay, I wean’t say that you hev, mester, for I’ve been standing ready to stop you if you did.”
Vane laughed.
“Now, then, start the pendulum,” he said; “and then put the hands right.”
He went to the side to start the swinging regulator himself but the sexton again stopped him.
“Nay,” he said; “that’s my job, lad;” and very slowly and cautiously he set the bob in motion.
“There, I told you so,” cried Vane; “only wanted a drop of oil.”
For the pendulum swung tic—tac—tic—tac with beautiful regularity. Then, as they listened it went tic—tic. Then tic two or three times over, and there was no more sound.
“Didn’t start it hard enough, Mike,” cried Vane; and this time, to the sexton’s horror, he gave the pendulum a good swing, the regular tic—tac followed, grew feeble, stopped, and there was an outburst as if of uncanny laughter from overhead, so real that it was hard to think that it was only a flock of jackdaws just settled on the battlements of the tower.