The morning news. [volume] (Savannah, Ga.) 1887-1900, 1894-08-12
The GHOST BELL or STITHNEY.
"TALES OF TEN TRAvETERs7* SERIES.
BY EDGAR :. wAKEMAN.
Copyright 1894

swept downs.
As far as the eve can reach to the north,
are ragged, furrowy hillocks of furze, and
to the south, over a treeless plain, there
Is nothing TO relieve the sense Of dosola-
tion 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. budding close against
the venerable parish church, gray and
drear as the sea and land, few gain
their scant livelihOods in the distant
mines; a few sell "growder," a sort of
rotten stone which from time immem-
orial has provided the Cornish housewife
with a substitute for soap in her weekly
securing of floors and furniture; some
are hedge cutters, field hands, furze
Ratherers and cottage thatchers; others
are the village blacksmith, shoemaker,
Joiner and what-not of the scrimp-penny
village; 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 it all orig
mated in his unwise and inexplicable de-
votion TO the church bells of the village
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 logged insistence and indomi-
table perseverance had left him for many
years undisputed, though not undisturbed,
master of the Stithney bells.
All this time tragedy of sacrificial
love was enacting al Stlthney. Poll Tree
noodle was Joe Davy's betrOthed. Scraggy,
lean and gaunt, the girl shaved on and
waited for the blessed bans to be read;
but Joes 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
neager earnings were so engulfed in re-
pairs for ropes, brasses, gudgeons, stay
straps, bolts, head-stOcks, sliders and
pulleys, 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 shaved until the
years silvered her hair and bent her
scraggy form while Joe Davy, fercely
contentious for the possession of his loved
bells, grew to be stitf and old in the hard
life of the sea.-------- .------------------
For years, Poll Treenoodle. forced from
homework by the cruel taunts of the
ignorant women about her, had been
despised 'grOwder" seller. With donkey
and cart she had hurried up and down
the village highways and halted before
village doors, with her well-tilled tub and
her shrill cry to the Cornish housewife
of,
"Growder to-day, mawther2"
"Hown't a sellin' I'm today, Poll2" was
the endless rejolnder
Her changeless reply would be:
Same oil drug
Hapn a tub
Then the housewife would empty the
tub, pay the immemorial half penny and
look al old Poll Treenoodle contemptu-
ously or pityingly as she trudged on. If
the latter, she would sometimes be moved
to call after her;
Poll, Poll, besn't tina coortin' Joe
Davy o'erlong2N
No, no. mawther;" Poll would sadly
and YEARLY reply. Joe be coortin' tn
Stithney bells o'erlong.n
Perhaps the housewife would toss poor
old Poll half penny with.
"Weel, weel, Poll, theer be a hapn'y
for tina marryin'"
This the growder seller would clutch
with miserly eagerness and hasten on to
her next customer.
But though her ragged form sped
from hamlet to hamlet in a seem
fngly endless quest for growder buy
ers, whenever the bells Of Stithney rang,
Poll TreenOodle would be found crouch
ing in a corner OF the old church tower,
well away from the whipping of the rig
gers ropes, living another life as she
#saEN al \ Loo 1,
almost fierce pride and happiness. or
closed her eyes and listened noddingly 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 for welded
life, when Joe Davy should feel it safe to
have the bans read, precisely as they had
done Times without number for nearly
two score years.
One Sabbath day Rector Dunlea came
TO them here, with resolute but troubled
face.
Poll and Joe, he said with touch Of
genuine compassion in his voice, I've
something TO say to you very earnestly"
''Thakee, sir" said Poll humbly,
crouching little closer to Joe.
Its a word an scat wi us Coden
(cousin) Jacks. So, bear away sir" And
timorously: "Besn't shoot tn heels, SIR"
Yes, Joe, about the bells and your
selves besides"
We need ma words, sir; an TIL beells
need less"
Joe, " continued the rector unheeding
the ringers reply, you and Poll should
have been man and wife long, long ago. g"
Polls face took on a harder look Joe
gave the rector q furtive glance; but the
two remained silent.
Its the scandal of Stithney of course
nobody thinks i'll of either OF you, Pou
and joe" this as the two eyed him dog
gedly and dangerously; but, Joe, you
must give way to younger man; to a
musician, to a scientific ringer. Besides,
we must have peal of bells at Stithney"
"A peal o. beels3" muttered old Joe
huskily.
Yes, of six, at least, Joe Now, you
know you cannot ring their changes prop
erly. Your devotion TO our old bells has
been grand, Joe; but Crowan, Helston,
Wendron, St Hilary, even St. Earth. are
all replacing their old chimes with peals.
Stithney cannot fail behind"
The old fellows hand sought Polls I'M
consciously and he held it close and hard
for time. Then he asked assertively:
THAI ma be sax new beelsin
"Oh, no, we'll need but three-four, five
and six. they are called"
'Hown't sellin' un-tha four, five,
saxl'
They will cost at least a hundred
pounds, Joe put in place
"Doan't ee knaw, an tina a passon
Stithneyll braak under tn drug dur