The hounds were not far behind them, and the baying was terrible. It was quite obvious that they had picked up Gobbolino’s scent and were following it in full cry.
But all of a sudden the baying died down, as if the pack had stopped for a moment, or overrun the trail. They seemed to be casting about to find it again, uttering little whimpers and false cries before returning to the same place again, and once more becoming bewildered and more and more defeated. This happened at the point where Gobbolino jumped on to the back of the little wooden horse, and his scent gave place to the trail of wooden wheels. For a short time it seemed as if the two friends had escaped from their pursuers.
Then the hounds realized that the scent they were following was mingled with the smell of wood and paint. It was still there, though faint and uncertain. All they had to do was to follow the new smell of paint and wood, and with a united howl of delight they set off again.
Now, although the little wooden horse sped like a streak of lightning, the hounds were gaining on him fast.
“Put me down and let me run!” Gobbolino pleaded, for he felt sure his weight was holding back the speed of the little wooden horse, but even side by side they could not outpace the pack of hounds.
When both were at the end of their strength and about to turn and face the baying pack, they arrived suddenly at the gate of an ancient church, and slipping quickly through the lych-gate, arrived inside the churchyard.
5 SANCTUARY IN THE HAUNTED CHURCH [Êàðòèíêà: i_010.jpg]
An OLD PRIEST came from the doorway of the church and walked down the path of the churchyard.
Gobbolino and the little wooden horse flew to hide themselves in the folds of his cassock, as a last and desperate refuge from the hounds, but to their amazement the pack stopped short at the lych-gate. One or two jumped over the wall and ran about among the tombstones, but they seemed very uneasy, and took no further notice of their prey.
The next moment a fearful clanging of bells in every discord burst out of the belfry above their heads. The old priest flinched, closed his eyes and crossed himself. A crowd of terrified bats flew out of the tower, and every hound turned tail and fled, howling. They could be heard retreating, still howling, across the plain, until they had run quite out of earshot.
[Êàðòèíêà: i_011.jpg]
A crowd of terrified bats flew out of the tower…
The old priest stooped down, and gently stroking Gobbolino murmured:
“Ah, my little cat! For once the haunted church has stood you in good stead, for I think it has saved your life!”
While they had been running for their lives the first shades of evening had crept across the plain, and were mingling with the pink glow on the peaks of the Hurricane Mountains.
At first Gobbolino and the little wooden horse were too shaken and breathless to tell their story to the priest, but as they recovered their breath they asked him if they might have sanctuary in the church overnight.
“Sanctuary!” exclaimed the priest. “Yes, of course you may have sanctuary! But I doubt if any of my parishioners would call it that! The church is haunted. You heard for yourselves the terrible clamour of the bells, though nobody rings them! The bell-ringers refuse to come any more. The choir won’t sing, in case it happens in the middle of a service. Nobody will clean the church, because the cleaners are so frightened. And I no longer have any congregation to preach to. It is no wonder they won’t sit in the pews because the place is so neglected and dirty.”
Gobbolino and the little wooden horse explained their plight, and the priest gave them all the comfort and sympathy in his power.
“I would invite you to spend the night in my house,” he said, “but my housekeeper does not like animals in the house. But I know she will give me some food for you, and at least you will be safe and dry, whether you sleep in the vestry or in the pulpit. Bless you both— I wish you well!”
The priest went away, and soon returned with a bowl of warm bread and milk which the two of them gladly shared.
Then he blessed them again, adding sadly:
“Not all my blessings seem able to rid the church of its haunting, nor all my prayers. All my life I have believed that Good is stronger than Evil, but in this case there seems to be nothing that I can do about it. Take as little notice as you can of the haunting bells, and sleep in peace!”
The priest went home to bed, while the little wooden horse and Gobbolino explored the old church, which was very beautiful, but dirty with bat droppings and months of neglect.
The bats themselves kept up a constant whirring of wings as they came back into the church tower from the churchyard, where the baying of the hounds had driven them. They disappeared inside the bell tower, having, it seemed, no particular fear of ghosts.
Gobbolino remembered bats from his life in the witch’s cave. He did not care for them very much, but he looked on them as harmless. A clinging suspicion that the hounds might come back that way made the friends decide not to sleep in the body of the church. When they had finished their bread and milk they climbed up the winding stair to the bell tower and saw hundreds of bats clinging to the bell-ropes, with their wings folded one across the other. They did not seem to worry about ghosts.
It was warmer up here than down below. Gobbolino and the little wooden horse found a comfortable alcove halfway up the stairs, and were thankful to rest their legs, and to warm themselves a little in the last rays of the sun pouring through a niche in the side of the tower.
Presently they became aware of a rustling and a whispering. The bats were waking up and peering at them.
“Who are you? Where are you from? Did you come with those horrible howling dogs? And if so, why did they leave you behind?” Their eager little heads were peering forward and their bright eyes twinkled at Gobbolino and the little wooden horse.
These began to tell them their story, but they had hardly begun before a bat perched on the biggest of the bells called out:
“The sun has touched the rim of the bell, brothers! It is time to get up! Now! Now!”
Suddenly, with the most fearful clamour every bat left the bell-ropes at once, and dived below into the body of the church. Some of them slipped through cracks into the churchyard outside, but the rest of them joined in a mad chase round and round the nave and the aisles, in and out of the screen, up and over the organ, in and out of the pulpit, while above them and around them the clamour of the liberated bells filled every corner of the building and echoed far beyond the priest’s house, the churchyard and the village.
It all happened so suddenly that Gobbolino and the little wooden horse were taken by surprise.
They cowered in their alcove, quite overwhelmed by the dreadful noise and the flurry of the whirling black bodies streaming past them. They could well understand the horror of the village, and the unwillingness of the congregation to enter the church. The bells took a long time to calm down after such agitation.
There was nothing they could do to calm the mad ecstasy of the bats, and they were so tired that all they desired was a little peace and quiet to sleep the night away after their adventure.
Peace they had at last, once they became used to the constant whirling of the bats, which was, after all, rather like the noise of the wind in the trees on a stormy night.
They slept, in spite of their exhaustion, with one ear open, expecting the same blast of bells when the bats should have finished their cavorting and come back to their perches at daybreak. But to their surprise they returned quietly, taking up their places one by one, and clinging like moths to the bell-ropes, till the whole tower seemed to be draped in velvet columns.
When he thought they were all assembled, and before they closed their eyes, Gobbolino addressed them, in the pale dawn light that was filling the belfry.