ST. BAT'S



LAZARRE


"My name is Eagle," said the little girl.

The boy said nothing.

"My name is Eagle," she repeated. "Eagle de Ferrier. What is your name?"

Still the boy said nothing.

She looked at him surprised, but checked her displeasure. He was about
nine years old, while she was less than seven. By the dim light which
sifted through the top of St. Bat's church he did not appear sullen. He
sat on the flagstones as if dazed and stupefied, facing a blacksmith's
forge, which for many generations had occupied the north transept. A
smith and some apprentices hammered measures that echoed with multiplied
volume from the Norman roof; and the crimson fire made a spot vivid as
blood. A low stone arch, half walled up, and blackened by smoke, framed
the top of the smithy, and through this frame could be seen a bit of St.
Bat's close outside, upon which the doors stood open. Now an apprentice
would seize the bellows-handle and blow up flame which briefly sprang
and disappeared. The aproned figures, Saxon and brawny, made a
fascinating show in the dark shop.