den, and
throughout all nature there came that inexplicable, indefinite, soft
pulsation of new life and new love which we call the spring. Tiny buds,
rosy and shining with sap, began to gleam like rough jewels on every
twig and tree--a colony of rooks which had abode in the elms surrounding
Weircombe Church, started to make great ado about their housekeeping,
and kept up as much jabber as though they were inaugurating an Irish
night in the House of Commons,--and, over a more or less tranquil sea,
the gulls poised lightly on the heaving waters in restful attitudes, as
though conscious that the stress of winter was past. To look at
Weircombe village as it lay peacefully aslant down the rocky "coombe,"
no one would have thought it likely to be a scene of silent, but none
the less violent, internal feud; yet such nevertheless was the case, and
all the trouble had arisen since the first Sunday of the first month of
the Reverend Mr. Arbroath's "taking duty" in the parish. On that day six
small choirboys had appeared in the Church, together with a tall lanky
youth in a black gown and white surplice--and to the stupefied amazement
of the congregation, the lanky youth had carried a gilt cross round the
Church, followed by Arbroath himself and the six little boys, all
chanting in a manner such as the Weircombe folk had never heard before.
It was a deeply resented innovation, especially as the six little boys
and the lanky cross-bearer, as well as the cross itself, had been
mysteriously "hired" from somewhere by Mr. Arbroath, and were altogether
strange to the village. Common civility, as well as deeply rooted
notions of "decency and order," kept the parishioners in their seats
during what they termed the "play-acting" which took place on this
occasion, but when they left the Church and went their several ways,
they all resolved on the course they meant to adopt with the undesired
introduction of "'Igh Jinks" for the future. And from that date
henceforward not one of the community attended Church. Sunday after
Sunday, the bells rang in vain. Mr. Arbroath conducted the service
solely for Mrs. Arbroath and for one ancient villager who acted the
double part of sexton and verger, and whose duties therefore compelled
him to remain attached to the sacred edifice. And the people read their
morning prayers in their own houses every Sunday, and never stirred out
on that day till after their dinners. In vain did both Mr. and Mrs.
Arbroath ru