“He’ve been a-going up and down with me these fifteen year,” said the old man, “and he barks at ’em still.”  He barked so fiercely at us that Fred would not go on board, to my great annoyance, for I never feel afraid of dogs, and was quite sure I could see a disposition to wag about the stumpy tail of the terrier in spite of his “bowfs.”

I may have been wrong, but once or twice I fancied that Fred shirked adventures which seemed nothing to me; and I felt this to be very odd, because I am not as brave as I should like to be, and Fred is grandson to the navy captain.

I think Fred wanted to make me forget the canal-boat, which I followed with regretful eyes, for he began talking about the churches.

“It must be splendid to hear all sixteen bells going at once,” said he.

“They never do,” said I, unmollified.

“They do—­sometimes,” said Fred slowly, and so impressively that I was constrained to ask “When?”

“In great emergencies,” was Fred’s reply, which startled me.  But we had only lived in the place for part of our lives, and Fred’s family belonged to it, so he must know better than I.

“Is it to call the doctor?” I asked, thinking of drowning, and broken bones, and apoplectic fits.

“It’s to call everybody,” said Fred; “that is in time of war, when the town is in danger.  And when the Great Plague was here, S. Philip and S. James both tolled all day long with their bells muffled.  But when there’s a fire they ring backwards, as witches say prayers, you know.”

War and the plague had not been here for a very long time, and there had been no fire in the town in my remembrance; but Fred said that awful calamities of the kind had happened within the memory of man, when the town was still built in great part of wood, and that one night, during a high gale, the whole place, except a few houses, had been destroyed by fire.  After this the streets were rebuilt of stone and bricks.

These new tales which Fred told me, of places I knew, had a terrible interest peculiarly their own.  For the captain’s dangers were over for good now, but war, plague, and fire in the town might come again.

I thought of them by day, and dreamed of them by night.  Once I remember being awakened, as I fancied, by the clanging of the two peals in discordant unison, and as I opened my eyes a bright light on the wall convinced me that the town was on fire.  Fred’s vivid descriptions rushed to my mind, and I looked out expecting to see S. Philip and S. James standing up like dark rocks in a sea of dancing flames, their bells ringing backwards, “as witches say prayers.”  It was only when I saw both the towers standing grey and quiet above the grey and quiet town, and when I found that the light upon the wall came from the street lamp below, that my head seemed to grow clearer, and I knew that no bells were ringing, and that those I fancied I heard were only the prolonged echoes of a bad dream.