ye! It's the Sawbeth, an' this is Sawbeth Volley! We don't wurruk on
the Sawbeth day in Sawbeth Volley. Whist! Hear thot, mon?"

He lifted his hand and from the stone belfry near-by came the solemn
tone of the chime, pealing out a full round of melody, and then tolling
solemnly twelve slow strokes. There was something almost uncanny about
it that held the stranger still, as if an unseen presence with a
convincing voice had been invoked. The young man sat under the spell
till the full complement of the ringing was finished, the workman with
his hand up holding attention, and Jim Rafferty quietly enjoying it all
from the curb stone.

When the last sweet resonance had died out, the Scotchman's hand went
slowly down, and the stranger burst forth with an oath:

"Well, can you tell me where I can go to get fixed up? I've wasted
enough time already."

"I should say from whut I've seen of ye, mon, that yer roight in thot
statement, and if I was to advoise I'd say go right up to the parson,
His loight's still burnin' in the windo next beyant the tchurtch, so
ye'll not be disturbin' him. Not that he'd moind. He'll fix ye up ef
anybody cun; though I'm doubtin' yer in a bad wy, only wy ye tak it.
Good-night to ye, the winda wi' the leight, mon, roight next beyant the
tchurtch!"

The car began its coughing and spluttering, and slowly jerked itself
into motion, its driver going angrily on his unthankful way. The two
workmen watching him with amused expressions, waited in the shadow of a
tree till the car came to a stop again in front of the parsonage, and a