The Methodist Society of Laurel Hill had built themselves a new
church upon the corner of the common, and as a mark of respect had
made black John their sexton. Perfectly delighted with the office,
he discharged his duties faithfully, particularly the ringing of the
bell, in which accomplishment he greatly excelled his Episcopal
rival, who tried to imitate his peculiar style in vain.
No one could make such music as the negro, or ring so many changes. In short, it
was conceded that on great occasions he actually made the old bell
talk; and one day toward the last of September, and five months
after the events of the preceding chapter, an opportunity was
presented for a display of his skill.
The afternoon was warm and sultry, and overcome by the heat the
village loungers had disposed of themselves, some on the long piazza
of the hotel, and others in front of the principal store, where,
with elevated heels and busy jackknives, they whittled out shapeless
things, or made remarks concerning any luckless female who chanced
to pass. While thus engaged they were startled by a loud, sharp ring
from the belfry of the Methodist church succeeded by a merry peal,
which seemed to proclaim some joyful event. It was a musical,
rollicking ring, consisting of three rapid strokes, the last
prolonged a little, as if to give it emphasis.
"What's up now?" the loungers said to each other, as the three
strokes were repeated in rapid succession. "What's got into John?"
and those who were fortunate enough to own houses in the village,
went into the street to assure themselves there was no fire.
"It can't be a toll," they said. "It's too much like a dancing tune
for that," and as the sound continued they walked rapidly to the
church, where they found the African bending himself with might and
main to his task, the perspiration dripping from his sable face,
which was all aglow with happiness.
It was no common occasion which had thus affected John, and to the
eager questioning of his audience he replied, "Can't you hear the
ding--dong--de-el. Don't you know what it says? Listen now," and the
bell again rang forth the three short sounds. But the crowd still
professed their ignorance, and, pausing a moment, John said, with a
deprecating manner: "I'll tell the first word, and you'll surely
guess the rest: it's 'Maude.' Now try 'em," and wiping the sweat
from his brow, he turned again to his labor of love, nodding his
head with every stroke. "No ear at all for music," he muttered, as
he saw they were as mystified as ever, and in a loud, clear voice,
he sang, "Maude can see-e! Maude can see-e!"