Eleanor rode quickly forth, feeling the air and the sunshine thrill through her, and rejoice her very soul. She lifted her beautiful face upwards towards the field of blue—albeit a pale November blue, one could see the colour it was meant for—and inhaled the fresh, westerly breeze, which had in it, could she have understood its ‘feel,’ a promise of north in the not distant future. They trotted briskly through Bradstane town, past the shops, and up the cobble-stoned street, sharply on through long, unlovely Bridge Street, and so over the old stone bridge under the castle crag, and upon a road on the Yorkshire side of the river, leading through the village of Lartington to that of Cotherstone. ‘Is that building a church, William?’ she asked, pointing to one with her whip. ‘Yes, miss,’ he replied, riding up and touching his hat. ‘I think it is the smallest one I ever saw,’ she remarked. ‘By your leave, miss, I have seen one, and been in it, not above half the size—at Lunds,’ he said, his eyes growing round, and his face red, from which signs Miss Askam knew infallibly that he had a tale of wonder to unfold. ‘Indeed; and where is Lunds?’ she asked. ‘If you please, miss, on Abbotside Common, going from Hawes to Hell Gill,—to Kirby Stephen, that is; it lies off on the common, to the right. ’Tis a rare small ‘un; and there was another peculiar thing about it, too.’ ‘What was that?’ ‘Well, the folk about was poor, vary poor indade; and they couldn’t afford a bell. So for many a year th’ sexton used to climb to t’ top of th’ church—’twere such a vary lile church, you see—wi’ a tin can full o’ stones in’s hand, and wi’ that he used to shake it to and fro, so as to mak’ the stones rattle, and a’ called out at the same time, “Boll-loll, boll-loll, boll-loll!” at top of his voice while t’ congregation got all come in, and then he clammert down again, and went in hissel! That were i’stead of a bell, you know; they couldn’t get t’ money to buy one. Ay, Lunds church was known for miles around.’ ‘I should think so,’ said Miss Askam, laughing. ‘Do you know of any more customs like that?’ ‘No, ma’am; except there was another vary small church where there was a queer habit, more like than a custom——’ ‘Indeed,’ said she, amused within herself at the distinction. ‘A vary lile one it was, too, i’ Langstrothdale——’ ‘Langstrothdale—where’s that?’ she asked, quickly. ‘On the other side o’ Cam Fell, miss. They do say that that’s where the doctor’s and Mr. Gilbert’s family first came fro’, and that they’re not Durham at all, but Yorkshire. I reckon doctor desarves to be a Yorkshire-man, choose what Mr. Gilbert——’ ‘Never mind about that. What of the little church?’