"You ought to be horsewhipped,
rather, for disturbing an ancient tomb that's been the apple of my
eye ever since I was inducted to this parish!" Then, as Bligh drew
back, staring: "My poor barrow!" he went on; "my poor, ransacked
barrow! But there may be something to save yet--" and he fairly ran
for the door, leaving Bligh at a standstill.
For awhile the man stood there like a fellow in a trance, opening and
shutting his mouth, with his eyes set on the doorway where the Parson
had disappeared. Then, his temper overmastering him, with a sweep of
his arm he sent the whole bag of tricks flying on to the floor,
kicked them to right and left through the garden, slammed the gate,
pitched across the road, and flung through the churchyard towards the
river like a whirlwind.
Now, while this was happening, Mrs. Polwhele had picked her way
across the churchyard, and after chatting a bit with my grandfather
over the theft of his tools, had stepped into the church to see that
the place, and especially the table and communion-rails and the
parsonage pew, was neat and dusted, this being her regular custom
after a trip to Plymouth. And no sooner was she within the porch
than who should come dandering along the road but Arch'laus Spry.
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