"Ay, that I would, my chuck, and the noo squire could have seen you, and--hist!"--_boom_!--"he'd have thought more of you than ever." "Oh, for shame, gran'fa," said Dally. "You shouldn't. But will you give me the money now?" "It's too late, my chucky." "No, no, it isn't, gran'fa." "But you must mind what you're doing, Dally." Another tug at the bell-rope, and a loud _boom_! made the place quiver. "I don't understand you, gran'pa." "Oh, yes, you do. There, you come and see me to-night--no, to-morrow morning, and I'll see what I can do." "You dear old gran'fa!" cried the girl. "But make haste; I want to go into that loft. You've got the key." "Have I?" "Yes, and if you don't make haste, Mr Salis and Mr May will be here, and I can't get through the vestry." "Ah well, you feel in my pocket there--in the coat behind the door. It's the littlest key." The girl darted to the old coat, and the next minute had drawn out four keys, all polished by long usage, the littlest being a great implement, big enough to use for a weapon of war. "There," said old Moredock, chuckling; "bring it back to me when you've done." "Yes, gran'fa." "And mind young squire don't see you." "Oh, gran'fa, of course I will." Rope rattle, boom, and a loud chuckle. "Ah, that you will, Dally. There, be off, and don't forget to come to me to-morrow morning." "I shan't forget, gran'fa," cried the girl, hurrying out, and going round by the back of the church to the vestry door, as another loud boom rang out from the church tower. People were gathering, but Dally was not seen, and passing into the vestry, she opened the old oaken door in the corner, drew out the key to insert it on the other side, draw it to after her and lock herself in, and stand panting for a few moments before ascending the narrow, corkscrew staircase, which led to the traceried opening in the side of the chancel, from which place she could have an excellent view of all that was about to take place. For it was to be "a fine berrin'." This was the accepted term for Luke Candlish's funeral. His brother, Tom, heir to the title and estate, consequent upon Luke's single life, had given orders to the London undertaker--very much to the disgust of the King's Hampton carpenter and upholsterer, as his sign-board announced, for this individual wanted to know why he couldn't bury the squire as well as a Londoner--that everything should be worthy of the family. So the London man had brought down his third best suite of funeral paraphernalia. The first was retained for magnates: the second for London folk of rank; the third for the leading country families, who always ordered and believed they had the beat.