and talk over the storm. Most said that never had been so fierce a wind,
but some of the oldest spoke of one in the second year of Queen Anne, and
would have it as bad or worse. But whether worse or not, this storm was a
weighty matter enough for me, and turned the course of my life, as you
shall hear.

I have said that the waters came up so high that the church stood out
like an island; but they went back quickly, and Mr. Glennie was able to
hold service on the next Sunday morning. Few enough folks came to
Moonfleet Church at any time; but fewer still came that morning, for
the meadows between the village and the churchyard were wet and miry
from the water. There were streamers of seaweed tangled about the very
tombstones, and against the outside of the churchyard wall was piled up
a great bank of it, from which came a salt rancid smell like a
guillemot's egg that is always in the air after a south-westerly gale
has strewn the shore with wrack.

This church is as large as any other I have seen, and divided into two
parts with a stone screen across the middle. Perhaps Moonfleet was once a
large place, and then likely enough there were people to fill such a
church, but never since I knew it did anyone worship in that part called
the nave. This western portion was quite empty beyond a few old tombs and
a Royal Arms of Queen Anne; the pavement too was damp and mossy; and
there were green patches down the white walls where the rains had got in.
So the handful of people that came to church were glad enough to get the
other side of the screen in the chancel, where at least the pew floors
were boarded over, and the panelling of oak-work kept off the draughts.

Now this Sunday morning there were only three or four, I think, beside
Mr. Glennie and Ratsey and the half-dozen of us boys, who crossed the