Up went the gold piece once more, whisking high, and Westcott caught it, but paused a moment before opening his palms.
“Come, man! Let us see our fate,” said Newbold.
The sailor raised his right hand, and the sovereign in his left disclosed the reverse of the coin uppermost.
“I’ve won!” said the builder. “It is I who am to have the first shot at the weathercock.”
“And I bide below with the lady,” said the mariner.
“Let me consider,” mused Newbold. “I have a little job on hand for Squire Theobald; it will take me about a week, and my ladders be all engaged. But I’ll tell you what. Monday week will suit me, and that will be time enough before the feast.”
“Oh, Mr. Newbold, do not be too rash,” pleaded the widow.
“Ma’am, I would dare anything for you,” he answered gravely.
The tidings that John Newbold was going to ascend the spire and put the vane to rights produced lively satisfaction in the breasts of the villagers, and awoke vast curiosity to know how he would set to work to accomplish it.