e were three places where the steeple narrowed into slenderer
lengths, and at each one was a sort of cornice to be scrambled over (and
loose nails to be avoided), and then more careful steering with legs and
toes to keep on one particular face of the steeple and not swing off
and come bumping back, a disconcerting possibility. "Hello!" called
Lawlor presently, from above. "You're doing fine. Come right along." And
before I knew it the swing had stopped. I was at the top, or as near it
as the tackle could take me. The remaining fifteen feet or so must be
made with stirrups. And there was Lawlor standing in them up by the
ball. There was not a stick of staging to support him (he had scorned
the bother of hauling up boards for so simple a job), and he was working
with both hands free, each leg standing on its stirrup, and several
hitches of life-line holding him to the shaft top by his waist.

This steeple-lassoing exploit was one of the things I certainly would
not attempt--would not and could not.

Strangely enough, as I hung here at rest I felt the danger more than
coming up. It seemed most perilous to rest my weight on the swing-board,
and I found myself holding my legs drawn up, with muscles tense, as if
that could make me lighter. Gradually I realized the foolishness of
this, and relaxed into greater comfort, but not entirely. Even veteran
steeple-climbers waste much strength in needless clutching; cannot free
their bodies from this instinctive fear.

I stayed up long enough to take three photographs (some minutes passed
before I could unlash my kodak), and here I had further proof of
subconscious fright, for I made such blunders with shutter and focus
length as would put the youngest amateur to shame. Two pictures out of
the three were failures, and the third but an indifferent success. There
is one thing to be said in extenuation, that a steeple is never still,
but always rocking and trembling. When Lawlor changed his stirrup
hitches or moved from side to side the old beams would groan under us,
and the whole structure rock. "She'd rock more," said Lawlor, "if she
was better built. A good steeple always rocks."

There wasn't much more to say or do up here, and presently we exchanged
jerks on the line for the descent. And Lawlor cried: "Lower away! Hang
on, now!" And I did over again my humble part of leg-spreading and
toe-steering, with the result that presently I was down on the
"bell-deck" again, receiving con