“Yes, of course. He has locked himself in.”
“Silence!” cried the rector; and, as the buzz of voices ceased, he continued, “Has anyone noticed a fire?”
“Nay, nay, nay,” came from all directions.
“But at a distance—at either of the farms?”
“Nay, they’re all right, parson,” said the churchwarden. “We could see if they was alight. Hi! theer! How’d hard!” he roared, with both hands to his mouth. “Don’t pull the bell down.”
For the clangour continued at the same rate,—Dang, dang dang, dang.
“Owd Mikey Chakes has gone mad, I think,” said a voice.
“Follow me to the church,” said the rector; and, leading the way with his pupils, the rector marched the little crowd up the street, amidst a buzz of voices, many of which came from bedroom windows, now all wide-open, and with the occupants of the chambers gazing out, and shouting questions to neighbours where the fire might be.
A few moments’ pause was made at the sexton’s door, but all was silent there, and no response came to repeated knocks.
“He must be at the church, of course,” said the rector; and in a few minutes all were gathered at the west door, which was tried, and, as before said, found to be fastened.