“Ah!” said Vane, for the man was looking at him curiously.
“I hear she went a bit hard the other night, and set all the bells a-ringing.”
“No, only one,” said Vane, quickly.
“And no wonder, when folks gets a-meddling with what they don’t understand. Do you know, sir—no, you’ll never believe it—watch and clock making’s a hart?”
“A difficult art, too,” said Vane, rather nervously.
“Eggs—actly, sir, and yet, here’s your shoemaker—bah! your cobbler, just because the church clock wants cleaning, just on the strength of his having to wind it up, thinks he can do it without sending for me. No, you couldn’t believe it, sir, but, as true as my name’s Gramp, he did; and what does he do? Takes a couple of wheels out, and leaves ’em tucked underneath. But, as sure as his name’s Chakes, I’m going straight up to the rectory as soon as I’m done, and if I don’t—”
“No, no, don’t,” cried Vane, excitedly, for the turn matters had taken was startling. “It was not Chakes, Mr Gramp; it was I.”
“You, Mr Lee, sir? You?” cried the man, aghast with wonder. “Whatever put it into your head to try and do such a thing as that? Mischief?”
“No, no, it was not that; the clock wouldn’t go, and I came up here all alone, and it did seem so tempting that I began to clean a wheel or two, and then I wanted to do a little more, and a little more, and I got the clock pretty well all to pieces; and then—somehow—well, two of the wheels were left out.”
The clockmaker burst into a hearty fit of laughter.