There was more in Scoot's comparison than might be generally understood; owls were not regarded with favour by the coast people. Strange rites were observed by some of the less godly of the marsh folks; and an owl, parboiled, with its feathers on, was supposed to have some very peculiar and close connection with the devil.

CHAPTER X.

OLD TITLARK'S DOMAIN.

THE sexton of the marshland church by the sea knew more about grave-digging than he did about ornithology. He got the nickname of "Titlark” because of a nest of the meadow pipit, or titlark of the flats, which he had found once. It was full of young birds; he reared them carefully, but always insisted that they were skylarks, until at last he was obliged to confess his error. He was notoriously self-opinionated, and the lads were jubilant when they could catch him tripping in any matter. When a son was born to him, he too, according to marsh custom, was called by the same name. As long as they remained in the marshes, they were known as old and young Titlark.

Folks were long-lived, as a rule, about Marshton; a funeral was quite an event there, and one which the sexton made the most of. He would be seen

coming down the street in the direction of the churchyard, with his bright shovel and pick on his shoulder, followed at a respectful distance by the younger Titlark, who carried a coil of rope in his hand. He had a gruesome way, intended to be humorous, of telling the numerous acquaintances he met, as he walked slowly along towards the church, that he was going to bury them.

The village lads always said that young Titlark's life was rendered bitter to him by the fact that he had to polish that shovel and pick every Saturday, when he cleaned the family knives and forks. The amount of bathbrick used on those two implements was something fabulous, according to their account.

The churchyard was shaded by finely grown old walnut-trees, and one of Titlark's duties was to see that they were properly thrashed down in the nut season. The old crones of the district stated-and it was a matter of fact—that "when we fit old Boneypart, some consarned in the Guv'nment cum 'an' offered a lot o' money fur them big walnut-trees fur tu turn 'em inter musket-stocks; but them as had tu du with 'em and the church wouldn't hear on it."

When the men thrashed those trees, Titlark used to tell them they need not be very particular in picking them all up; he could see to that when he straightened up after they had done. The hint

was always taken, and Den, Scoot, and Winder used to help over the work and secure a goodly store for themselves. Those walnuts were fine, and thoroughly appreciated by the three boys, who were favoured in being allowed to assist the Titlarks in their manifold duties, in consideration of Denzil's relationship to the Portreeve, who had the business connected with the plumbing and glazing, and other matters needing frequent attention, in the old parish church.

As winter drew near, the primitive warming apparatus inside the building had to be got into working order again; and that was one of old Titlark's times for having what he termed a "reg'lar rootin' out."

The only bit of work inside the church that he would intrust to Titlark the younger and our three friends, was the scaring and routing out of the white owls, and poking up the bats that had undisturbed possession there for many months in

the year.

That was the time for more larks than one. The four became so energetic over their work now and again, that old Tit would rush from subterranean regions underneath them, and ask what they meant by "whoopin', hollerin', and rampagin' about in a church in that scandalous fashion, like so many young cart-hosses."

They did certainly wake the poor owls up most effectually, causing them to mop and mow in their fright like so many feathered lunatics. As to the bats, young Tit said, "I has 'em along o' me a goodish bit at times.”

He confided, as a profound secret, to the three boys one day, that he'd heard his father tell his mother that "Things" (with a large T) had been seen coming up the long churchyard path of a night, and some of them were moving over the graves, but they made no noise-the true figure of them had never been seen plain.

Scoot and Winder exchanged significant looks. "Did yer father tell it to yerself as well as to yer mother, Tit?" asked Winder.

"No, I on'y heard him; he didn't know as I was by."

It might be thought only a curious coincidence, perhaps, but the evening of the day on which young Titlark repeated this to the boys-Winder was getting a well-grown lad now, and in the confidence of his father- -as soon as it was dark his father, and Scoot's with him, lounged up to Titlark's house, where they remained in close conversation with him for some time, after which they left him in most friendly fashion.

Next day young Tit was seen looking out of his bedroom window in a very doleful fashion. Scoot