Dick had forgotten to give
due notice of this event. The vicarage trap was in readiness, but the
road over the Derbyshire Peak was rough and steep, the pony small, the
distance ten miles, and the vicar encumbered with wet clothes. The
chance of getting to the church before twelve o'clock seemed remote. But
the vicar and pony did their best; it was, however, half an hour after
the appointed time when they reached the church. Glancing at the clock
in the tower, the vicar, to his astonishment, found the hands pointing
to half-past eleven. The situation was saved, and the service was
concluded within the prescribed time. The vicar turned to the clerk for
an explanation. "I seed yer coming over the hill," he said, "and I just
stopped the clock a bit." Dick was an ingenious man.
There was another character in the parish quite as peculiar as Dick, and
he was one of the principal singers, who sat in the west gallery. He had
formerly played the clarionet, before an organ was put into the church.
During service he always kept a red cotton handkerchief over his bald
head, which gave him a decidedly comic appearance.
On one occasion the clergyman gave out a hymn in the old-fashioned way:
"Let us sing to the praise and glory of God the twenty-first hymn,
second version." Up jumped the old singer and shouted, "You're wrang,
maister; it's first version.
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