HOW BARNFORD CHURCH WAS SAVED.
A Complete Story.
By Scott Graham, Author of "Pemberton's Piece," "All Through Prejudice," Etc.
When Llewellyn Percival, the new Rector, first beheld the dilapidated pile called by courtesy Barnford Church, his heart sank. The late Rector, who had just died, aged ninety, had held the living fifty years, and during his sway scarcely any repairs had been done. The parish, a remote village in the East of England, was an exceedingly poor one; and the very ancient and interesting church had literally settled down—for one side was much out of the perpendicular—to decay.
It smelt incredibly fusty, it was disfigured by hideous high pews, daubed with yellow paint, locally termed "horse-boxes"; the fine west window was blocked by a huge gallery containing the organ—an instrument so much out of order that half the notes were mute, and the pipes emitted the weirdest groans, absolutely terrifying to a stranger. The old sexton assured Llewellyn that the roof was so leaky that in wet weather the rain poured down on the congregation, and though there was a stove, it was so ill-constructed that in winter the cold was terrible. There was a fine old peal of bells, but the tower at the west end had a huge crack running from top to bottom, and seemed so unsafe that they did not dare to ring more than one.
All this was sadly disheartening; especially as the church was really a fine building, with a splendid Norman doorway, a dilapidated but still beautiful carved screen, and many interesting features.
"Is there really no rich family in the place who could help to restore it?" Llewellyn asked the sexton. "What about the people at the fine grey-stone Manor House, there among the trees?"