The bats promised to do this.
So Gobbolino’s disappointment was all the greater when the little wooden horse, standing on the belfry steps with the light of the early morning shining on the great new peace around them, said that he thought they ought to clean the church before they left.
6 THE CHURCH IS SAVED
"It will take us hours and hours!" said Gobbolino sadly.
The little wooden horse was already hunting in the vestry for dustpans and brushes, dusters and brooms. He sent Gobbolino outside to find a dustbin.
Gobbolino went out into the fresh morning air, very glad to be free of the bat-ridden church. He found a large dustbin, and also a tap with a pail underneath it, but he was in no mood for spring cleaning. He looked wistfully towards the Hurricane Mountains, envying the bats, who would be there by now, exploring the caves, and even making the acquaintance of his little sister Sootica.
There was one comfort — they would be telling her that he was coming.
He filled the bucket with water and carried it inside.
The little wooden horse had wasted no time in idleness. He was on the top of the belfry stairs sweeping the bell-ropes with the broom until no dirt or dust remained, and then he swept the bells. Beyond a faint chime every now and again no sound came out of them. They hung limp and heavy above the chancel far below. Gobbolino felt they must be very relieved to be at peace.
"Once the bats are gone and the church is really clean again the people will come back!" said the little wooden horse, sweeping and polishing and mopping. Gobbolino joined in with a will, thinking the sooner the job was finished the better, and it was surprising how quickly they swept away the rubbish, washed the stones, and put the place to rights.
Shortly before midday the old priest returned, carrying a large plate of cold meat and a jug of milk. He nearly dropped these in his astonishment when he stepped inside the church. Gobbolino and the little wooden horse were just sweeping out the last of the dust and droppings, while the nave and the aisles gleamed with cleanliness. The pews shone.
"Oh my dear, good, kind little friends!" the old man said. "How can I thank you enough? But I am afraid all your work will be in vain, because within a week the bats will have made it all dirty again, and nobody else has the courage to come and clean up after them."
Gobbolino and the little wooden horse were so eager to explain that they both began to talk at once, and it was quite a while before they could make themselves understood.
"But do you mean to tell me…" the priest exclaimed, when at last he could make out their astonishing story, "do you mean to say that the haunting which has terrified my whole parish was nothing more nor less than the bats jumping off the bell-ropes?"
"Just that!" said the little wooden horse and Gobbolino, nodding wisely.
"And that the bats are really gone for ever? So that the church will stay clean and tidy and the bells will never clamour any more without a human hand to ring them?" the priest went on.
"The bats will never come back! They have gone to the caves on the Hurricane Mountains where there is room for thousands of bats!" Gobbolino said. "So they will never ring the bells again, and your church will stay clean — that is if your parishioners are willing to keep it that way"
"I can hardly believe it!" said the priest, his heart swelling with gratitude and happiness. "So my prayers have been answered after all, and Good has banished Evil, just as I said. We must have a service of thanksgiving as soon as possible, and I will tell the congregation all about it. I must gather them all together! But first, we must ring the bells!"
Gobbolino and the little wooden horse stared at him in amazement, but the next moment each of them found himself at the end of a bell-rope. The old priest took a third, and directed them as he rang:
"One.. two.. three! One.. two.. three! One.. two.. three!"
The merry chimes rang out crystal clear, since the cleaning of the bronzes and scraping of the ropes had brought back the very best of their tones.
The notes were unmistakably clear and harmonious, and all round the parish where people had grown to dread the sound of the bells, they now stopped to listen.
"It is like the old days before the church was haunted!" the older ones said to each other. "The priest is calling us to church. We had better go!"
One by one, or in twos and threes, even in family parties, they left their homes and walked to church, curious at the merry sound coming out of the church tower, a little apprehensive too, but trustful of their priest’s bidding.
The priest begged Gobbolino and the little wooden horse to stay and take part in the service of thanksgiving. He wanted his parishioners to meet them, and to realize what had been done for them, once he had explained to them all that there was nothing more to fear. The bats who had been the cause of all the dread and terror were now many miles away in the mountains, and would never come back to the church.
Gobbolino and the little wooden horse were anxious to leave, for the day was far advanced, and they had many miles to go. It was all very well for the bats with their wings, they could fly leagues at a time without effort. But for wooden wheels, and paws unused to travelling, the distance was likely to be very exhausting. There was also the faint risk that the hounds might return during the afternoon, and the sooner they took to the road the better.
However, the old priest was so insistent that they agreed to stay for a short while, and to slip out of the church before the sermon began. In this way they planned to avoid shaking hands and being introduced to all the congregation when the service was over. They felt they could not face a further delay in resuming their journey.
But now Gobbolino insisted that the little wooden horse should leave him to do the rest of the journey alone.
"Think how they are missing you at your home in the forest!" he reproached him. "Uncle Peder is old, and so is his wife. Every evening they will be looking up the forest path and calling for you. You should have been sitting at home by the fire with them by now! I can see my destination ahead of me, and it cannot be very far away Do go back, my kind little friend, and give me the pleasure of knowing that you are on your homeward journey!"
The little wooden horse was terribly reluctant to agree. He wanted to see Gobbolino safely across the plain to the foot of the mountains.
Yet all that he had said was true. The danger was over. There was not the smallest whisper of a hound's cry on the still afternoon air, while he knew how anxiously his dear old master would be looking for his return. The village was behind them, and they had travelled three parts of the plain. The little wooden horse had no fears that he would not be able to gallop back to the forest before darkness fell, and he would be home by early morning.
They stood looking at one another on a little hummock in the plain, one pleading for the other to go, the other pleading to stay.
"Just a little further!." begged the little wooden horse.
"Not one step, my kind friend!" said Gobbolino.
At last, very, very reluctantly; the little wooden horse agreed to say goodbye. He rubbed his wooden nose against Gobbolino’s soft fur and asked him over and over again to come back as quickly as possible; and not to fail to call in at the cottage in the forest and relate all his adventures. Both of them knew that Gobbolino must cross the plain again on his homeward journey and this time he would be all alone. Neither of them dared to think much about that.
For the second time the friends parted and proceeded in different directions. But this time the little wooden horse did not go far on his way. He crouched down in the grass to watch Gobbolino out of sight; quite determined to keep an eye upon him until he reached the mountains.