The record-union., 1894-08-11
THE GHOST BELL OF STITHNEY.
[Copyright, 1894, by Edgar L. wakeman. All
rights reserved.

[Copyright, 1894, by Edgar L. Wakeman. All
rights reserved.
The ancient and tiny church-town OF
Stithney stands near the southern coast of
Cornwall, at the edge of dreary, wind
swept downs.
As far as the eye can reach to the north
are ragged, furrowy hillocks of furze, and
TO the south, over treeless plain, there is
nothing TO relieve the sense of desolatlon
but the white sails. or the trailing plumes
from passing steamers tunnels, upon the
gray or spumy sea.
OF the hundred or more souls housed
in the stone cottages. huddling close
against the venerable parish church, gray
and drear as the sea and land, few gain
their scant livelihoods in the distant
mines; few sell ''growder," a sort OF
rotten stone which. from time immemo-
rial, has provided the Cornish housewife
with substitute Tor soap in her weekly
securing of floors and furniture; some are
hedge cutters, field hands, furze gather
ers and cottage thatchers; others are the
village blacksmith, shoemaker, joiner
and what-not of the scrimp-penny Will
age, but most are coasting sailors, or
fishermen who seek the harvests of the
deep, from Mullion Cove to Narration and
Mounts Bay.
One of the latter, Joe Davy, was des-
tined to give the hamlet of Stithney no
little Cornish distinction. And 1t all
= originated in his unwise and ineXplicabIe
devotion to the church bells OF the will
age.
These, three in number, had hung in
their little old Norman tower for more
than an hundred years. Joe had been
their head ringer since he was lad, and
though he knew not one note from an
other, his dogged insistence and lndoml-
table perseverance had left him for many
years undisputed, though not undis-
turbed, master of the Stithney bells.
All this time tragedy OF superficial
love was enacting at Stithney. Poll
Treenoodle was Joe Dayy's betrothed.
Scraggy, lean and gaunt, the girl slaved
on aud waited for the blessed bans TO be
read, but Joe's life was so wrapped up in
the bells, was so distraught from the con-
slant cunning attempts OF rivals to
GUST him from his proud position, and
his meager earnings were so engulfed IN
repairs for ropes, brass, gudgeons, stay
straps, bolts, head stocks, SllderS and
pulIeys, that the time never came when
The bitter tongues of the Stithney harri-
dams could be stilled by the only act, that
of a wedding, which might give them
kindly silence.
Poor Poll Treenoodle bore their gibes
in silence, and starved and slaved until
the years silvered her hair and bent her
scraggy form, while Joe Davy: herceiy
contentious for the possession OF his loved
bells, grew to be stiff and old in the hard
life of the sea.
For years Poll Treenoodle, forced from
housework by the cruel taunts OF the ig-
norant women about her, had been q
despised 'growder'' seller. With dom
key and cart she had hurried up and
down the village highways and halted
before village doors with her well-hll9d
tub and her shrill cry to the Cornish
wife of,
'Growder to-day, mawther?"
"Hown't a sellin' un to-day, Poll?' was
the endless rejoinder.
Her changeless reply would be,
Same OF drug,
Hapniy tubl
Then the housewife would empty the
tub. pay the immemorial half-penny and
look at old Poll Treenoodle contempTu-
ously and pityingly as she trudged on.
If the latter, she would sometimes be
moved 10 call after her:
Poll, Poll, besn't tha coortin' Joe
Davy oerlong?"
NO, no, nawther," Poll would sadly
and wearily reply. Joe be coortin' th'
Stithney bells o'erlong!"
Perhaps the housewife would toss poor
old Poll half-penny with,
''Weel, weel, Poll, theer be hap'ny
for tha marryin'."
This the growder seller would clutch
with niserly eagerneSs aud hasten to her
next customer.
But though her ragged form sped from
l,ff ,lari IL
quest for growder buyers, whenever the
bells OF Stithney rang. Poll Treenoodle
would be found crouching in a corner of
the old church tower, well away from the
whipping of the ringers ropes, living
another life as she watched old Joe and
his men with an almost fierce pride and
happiness, or closed her eyes and list
ened noddiugly to the Ginning OF the
bells above her.
Then, when their tones had ceased,
the old couple would sit alone in the
tower and Groom over their plans tol
welded life, when Joe Davy should feel
it safe TO have the bans read, precisely as
they had done times without number fol
nearly two score years.
One Sabbath day Rector Dunlea came
to them here. with resolute but troubled
face.
stPon and Joe,'' he said with a touch Of
genuine compassion in his voice, ''I've
something to say 10 you very earnestly"
'sThankee, SIR" said Poll humbIy,
crouching a little closer to Joe.
s.Ips a word an a scat wiz US, Coder
(cousin) Jacks. so. bear away, SIR
And timorously, "Besn't aboot th' beels
sir?''
'Yes, Joe, about the bells and your
selves besides.'
1--WE need ma words, sir, an th' beels
need less"
.'Joe," continued the rector unloading
the ringers reply, you and Poll should
have been man and wife long, long
ago."
Polls face took on a harder look, Joe
gave the rector furtive glance, but the
two remained silent.
tits the scandal of Stithney!-of course
nobody thinks i'll of either of you, Pol
and Joe,'' this as the two eyed him dog
gedly and dangerously; "but, Joe, you
must give way to q younger man, TO q
musician, to scientific ringer. Besides
we must have peal of. bells at Stith-
ney."
huskily.
s.Yes. of six, at least, Joe. Now, you
know, you cannot ring their changes
properly. Your devotion to our old bells
has been grand, Joe, but Crowan, Hell
suon, Wendron, st. Hilary, even st.
Earth, are all replacing their old chimes
with peals. Stithney cannot fall be.
hind"