He turned slowly round, and says he, "No, sonny. 'Reckon us'll climb
skywards for a change."

And with that, he took my hand, and pushing abroad the belfry door began
to climb the stairway. Up and up, round and round we went, in a sort of
blind-man's-holiday full of little glints of light and whiff's of wind
where the open windows came; and at last stepped out upon the leads of
the tower and drew breath.

"There's two-an'-twenty parishes to be witnessed from where we're
standin', sonny--if ye've got eyes," says my father.

Well, first I looked down towards the harvesters and laughed to see them
so small: and then I fell to counting the church-towers dotted across
the high-lands, and seeing if I could make out two-and-twenty.
'Twas the prettiest sight--all the country round looking as if 'twas
dusted with gold, and the Plymouth road winding away over the hills like
a long white tape. I had counted thirteen churches, when my father
pointed his hand out along this road and called to me--

"Look'ee out yonder, honey, an' say what ye see!"

"I see dust," says I.

"Nothin' else? Sonny boy, use your eyes, for mine be dim."

"I see dust," says I again, "an' suthin' twinklin' in it, like a tin
can--"