“Call, somebody with a loud voice.”
“We did come and shout, sir, and kicked at the door.”
“Call again,” said the rector. “The bell makes so much clamour the ringer cannot hear. Hah! he has stopped.”
For, as he spoke, the strokes on the bell grew slower, and suddenly ceased.
A shout was raised, a curious cry, composed of “Mike”—“Chakes!”—“Shunk” and other familiar appellations.
“Hush, hush!” cried the rector. “One of you—Mr Rounds, will you have the goodness to summon the sexton.”
“Hey! hey! Sax’on!” shouted the miller in a voice of thunder; and he supplemented his summons by kicking loudly at the door.
“Excuse me, Mr Rounds,” said the rector; “the call will suffice.”
“But it don’t suffice, Parson,” said the bluff churchwarden. “Hi, Chakes, man, coom down an’ open doooor!”
“Straange and queer,” said the butcher. “Theer arn’t nobody, or they’d say summat.”