coffer, the sides curiously graven, and a great rusty key in the lock.
The clerk (Sir Walter calls him the sexton, but it is evidently the
clerk who is referred to) turns the key with difficulty, throws open the
lid, and looks in.

"Ay," he says, chuckling, "the old surplice and the old Book of Common
Prayer. Ye have had a long rest; 'tis time for you both to come out
again. When the surplice is out, the book will stay no longer locked
up." He draws forth an old and yellow roll. It was the surplice which
had once been white. "Here you be," he says; "put you away for a matter
of twelve year and more, and you bide your time; you know you will come
back again; you are not in any hurry. Even the clerk dies; but you die
not, you bide your time. Everything comes again. The old woman shall
give you a taste o' the suds and the hot iron. Thus we go up and thus we
go down." Then he takes up the old book, musty and damp after twelve
years' imprisonment. "Fie," he says, "thy leather is parting from thy
boards, and thy leaves they do stick together. Shalt have a pot of
paste, and then lie in the sun before thou goest back to the desk.
Whether 'tis Mass or Common Prayer, whether 'tis Independent or
Presbyterian, folk mun still die and be buried--ay, and married and
born--whatever they do say. Parson goes and Preacher comes; Preacher
goes and Parson comes; but Sexton stays." He chuckles again, puts back
the surplice and the book, and locks the coffer[5].

[Footnote 5: _For Faith and Freedom_, by Sir Walter Besant, chap. 1.]

Like many of his brethren, he had seen the Church of England displaced
by the Presbyterians, and the Presbyterians by the Independents, and the
restoration of the Church. His father, who had been clerk before him,
had seen the worship of the "old religion" in Queen Mary's time, and all