THE CHURCH-GRIM

BY EDEN PHILLPOTTS
Author of " T h e Secret Woman," " T h e Mother," etc.

O U might n't know what a churchgrim was, I dare say, and for that
matter, they be a branch of knowledge
very much out of the common and very
near forgot. And I 'm properly sure I
should n't have heard of no such fearful
thing if I had n't actually seen one in my
green youth, and heard tell of its great
fame and powers. For these here churchgrims go back to another age than ours,
when the folk believed in all manner of
dark contrivances that you never hear tell
upon now; though whether the hidden
powers be there still, or whether they 've
vanished at the will of their Creator, be a
question beyond us mortals to answer.
But one thing is clear as light to any
thinking man, and that is that when our
ancient forebears lifted our churches, they
had a very different set of opinions from
us who worship in them to-day.
W e was always very proud of our
church to Whiteworthy, where I dwelt as
a lad, and though the Widecombe folk
laughed us to scorn, and would have it
that their St. Pancras was far grander
than our St. Christopher, yet, bating the
tower, which be only a trap for the lightning, when all 's said, we were so fine as
them, if not finer. Besides, there was a
proper story about our place, how the lord
of the manor in the seventh Henry's time,
or some such far-away age, fell out with
the powers, and had his property took
from him, house and lands and all. Indeed, he only escaped with his head, by all
accounts; but the story went that afore the
storm broke, the good knight fell to his
prayers, and St. Christopher himself appeared afore the holy table and bade the
man bring his treasures to mother church,
so as they might be took care of for the
generations to come. Sir Tobias Hele
was the hero, and the old story seemed to
show as he was persecuted wrongfully,
else the saint would never have appeared
with his good advice. But there it stood,
and not a few still believed that Sir Toby

done what the saint told him; and as the

ancient hero was buried in his own church,
under a brass that people came miles to
see, it all looked very proper and likely to
be true.
But there was no old writings nor nothing to prove that Sir Toby had obeyed the
saint, and so people believed or disbelieved
according to their fancy. And some said
that the story was true, but that the money
had doubtless been taken away again after
Sir Tobias's death; while others, including the Rev. Valletort, the vicar of Whiteworthy in my youth, held stoutly to it
that the treasure was where Sir Toby put
it, according to the direction of St. Christopher. Their reason was a good one:
because, in the first place. Sir Toby was
proved to be a bachelor, in itself a remarkable thing in thern days; for bachelor men
be a modern invention, if I hear aright,
and in the old times they was so rare as
white crows. And they did n't bear a
very good character, neither, though today I could name a score of men, if I took
thought, who carry the single state without suspicion, and are so respectable and
well thought upon as me or you. Then,
again. Sir Toby died a sudden death, as
the church brass testified; and so it seemed
a fair argument that he had n't time to
shift his treasure from its hiding-place
even if he wanted to do so.
A name clings to a district like mud to
a hobnailed boot, and though-he 'd been
gone for scores and hundreds of years, yet
there were Heles in Whiteworthy still,
though, of course, only humble people on
the land, for the most part. And there
was a Tobias Hele, too, the son of M a r y
Hele; and she" was a widow, and he was
her prop and stay.
A very unusual fashion of man was this
Toby, and people could n't believe his
blood had run through his father's veins;
for old Hele just broke stones and mended
roads with them, and put his mark to a
document when necessary, for he could n't

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read to his dying day, nor yet write. But

Toby Hele had a brain, and was a highstrung, nervy chap, with a hand like a
gentleman and a quick way and an inquiring mind. In fact he rnight have made a
name for himself and been the pride of his
native village if he had n't been such a
lazy good-for-naught; but his nature was
blended of mixed material, and, no doubt,
if the people had traced his havage ^ back
for a few generations, they 'd have found
some remarkable character had had a hand
in Toby. His qualities were strong, but
they balanced each other, and so left the
man pretty much like other men.
And for some reason that was unfortunate for him. Because wnth his cleverness,
if he 'd been industrious, he might have
gone far; and if he 'd been proud and ambitious, none can tell what he 'd have
reached up to. While, again, with his
nimble wits and loose opinions, he only
lacked one thing to make him a thorn in
the side of the people and a dangerous
character all round. And that thing was
pluck. He was a coward, an accident that
stood between him and a lot of wickedness, without a doubt. As a child he was
a proper wonder at sending the other boys
through the hedge to steal the apples, and
he 'd find the brains every time, so long as
some other young rip found the pluck;
but along of this weakness, he never got
himself into any serious trouble, and was
generally left on the safe side of the fence
both as a boy and a man.
People did n't like him very much, but
they employed him, because he was a
clever thatcher, and you can't do much
harm to the community if your work only
lies in putting straw on ricks and cottages.
H e was an artist in his way, and took a
pride in his work; he also had a fancy for
book-learning, and it was along of that
he won over the Rev. Valletort, and got
on his blind side afore he left the parish school. Because if a person was fond
of learning, and took an interest in benchends and old stones and the inscriptions
on bells, or any old rubbige like that, he
might be as wicked as you please; but the
Rev. Valletort would n't hear a word
against him.
Toby Hele once found a splinter of
flint up over on Hameldon,, just a little
piece fashioned in shape of an arrow-head,

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and made by the heathen old men afore

the dawn of history. H e took it to his
reverence, and from that day forever the
parson swore by him, and always took his
part against the parish if need be. And
if Toby had cut his mother's throat, the
Rev. Valletort would have said 't was no
great odds; because he held most steadfast'
that a young youth who could find an
ancient arrow-head and bring it to him
must be a wonder, and something quite
above law and order and common contrivances of that kind. And he properly
spoiled young Hele, and poured his own
learning into him until Toby knew as
much about Dartmoor, and the roundypoundies, and queer, silly things left lying about up there by the savages of old
time, as parson did himself. And Tobias
made his own discoveries, too, and took a
great pleasure in showing them to visitors
for money; for he was a curious mixture
of the dove and the sarpent, you may say,
and when he found out as these flint fragments was worth a bit, he always seemed
to have a few things on hand for the summer visitors. You could always buy an
ancient granite tin-mold or an arrowhead or such like curiosity from him,
though whether they was as ancient as
they looked, only he knew.
But the vicar held to him, and as he
grew up into manhood, he went digging
with his reverence by day, and read the
lessons in church of a Sunday, besides taking round the dish for alms. And all this
may have made a better man of him in
some directions, though those who knew
him best reckoned that he done these holy
things for business rather than pleasure,
and to keep in with the vicarage.
T h e n fate over-got Toby after the usual
fashion, and he fell in love with a fine girl
by name of Beth Mannaford. She was
Timothy Mannaford's daughter, and he
was a small farmer, with her for his one
child. He only rented, however, and was
always hard up. Beth liked Toby well
enough, and it would have gone through
and nothing said; but Mannaford always
counted to be kept out of the workhouse
by his offspring some day, because she was
a very fine girl and fair to look on. So he
reckoned that she must make a good match
presently, and' have a chimhey-cdrner for
him when he was too old to work.

i Havage, ancestry.

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CHURCH-GRIM'

But he very soon saw there would n't

be no chimney-corner at Toby Hele's, for
Toby was poor himself and did n't offer
Beth anything more exciting than to share
his mother's cottage; so Mannaford
turned Toby down short and sharp, and
even pretended 't was proper cheek on
Toby's part to look so high as Beth. Not
that that deceived anybody, because, so
far as money went, the girl was worse off
than the man, and though a bowerly creature, she could n't be counted any particular catch, for she had a kick in her speech
and a doubtful temper. But Toby wanted
her with all his might, and she was determined to take him; so his wits set to work,
and such is the power of love that it makes
even a weak man braver than usual, and
fires the coward to take risks he 'd never
dream about in his every-day senses.
First, however, before he set out on any
doubtful trick to come by money, Tobias
went to his friend, the vicar, and was a
good bit put about to find he drew a blank.
For the Rev. Valletort, though a Christian to his toe-nails, was human, and could
be as selfish as any miser when he was
touched on the raw. And well he knew
that Toby's usefulness to him would be
gone forever if he took a wife and became
a family-man. Besides, he was a bachelor
himself, being far too taken up with old
stones and old books to wed a wife; and
so, when he heard Toby wanted to be
married, but was refused the girl till he
could show five shillings a week more
money, the reverend took it in a very indifferent spirit and did n't offer any assistance, but advised Toby to put the thing
away from him and not slight his natural
accomplishments or hide 'em under such a
bushel as marriage too often proves to be.
So he got no comfort there, and was just
turning over things in his mind and working himself into a rash and reckless spirit,
when that happened at the church to
quicken his wits and start him on a very
dangerous adventure.
Parson got a legacy left him, and told
everybody about it in his next sermon; for
the man had n't a secret in the world, Ldo
believe, and his sermons were more just
friendly talks about himself and the people
than right down proper sermons. N o w
he 'd mention this man or that woman by
name over the pulpit; and now it would
be the childer, or this or that doing in the

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parish; and now it would be the crops or

the lambing, and so on; and once he asked
Farmer Parsons right out if 't was true
he 'd turned off young Billy Bassett for
picking blackberries after Sunday-school;
and farmer answered back afore the congregation that he had done so. Then his
reverence explained the situation, and assured everybody that there was no harm
for a lad or maid to pick a nut or blackberry on the Lord's Day, if they 'd been
to church and Sunday-school first. And
he hoped that Parsons would reconsider
the subject. And farmer, who was a
broad-minded man, replied that, if his reverence felt that way, he 'd take Billy back;
which he did do.
So you may be sure that when he got
his legacy of two thousand pounds, our
parson told us all about it; and more than
that, for he said how he was going to
spend most of it, also. And some said he
was right, but most thought he was wrong.
Upon the church he planned to squander very near every penny of that huge
sum, and he got a faculty, or some such
thing, from them in authority, and set to
work to undo a lot that had been done a
hundred year back or more.
" I 'm going to restore our beautiful
church," he said in a sermon afore the
work was begun, "and by that I do not
mean to make the house of the Lord hideous, and sweep away the noble efforts of
those who builded in T u d o r times; but it
is my wish to bring back out of this evil
chaos the former chaste severity and purity
of line before the so-called restoration of
Anne's reigna reign architecturally distressing to every right-minded antiquary."
H e went on like that, and presently we
found that, far from making the church
any smarter and warmer and more comfortable, he was going to pull down a lot
of mason's work between the old pillars,
and throw out the old north aisle, which
had been practically walled up for a century. . Then there was an old painting
over the east end,at least scraps of it,
and this was whitewashed; and he was
going to have the whitewash took off and
the painting restored, if it could be done.
And the bosses of the wagon-roof had rotted away; but he knowed they was carved
in the arms of the ancient family of Hele,
and meant to have 'em done again. In
fact, his honor properly let himself loose

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on the church, and presently, when a score

of men got to work and he found his
money was holding out well, he sprang
still more notions, and started explorations
in the walls and a lot of little games that
had n't nothing to do with the sacred
building, but only ministered to his own
curiosity. It got on the nerves of some of
the old members after a bit, because there
was a lot of dirt in the holy building,
and the drafts came in through the holes,
and it looked as if law and order would
never return to St. Christopher's. But
parson told us all about it every Sunday;
and now and then the workmen would
find a bit of wrought stone or an old nail
or what not, and his reverence properly
glowed talking about these things, and always threw out great hopes of what the
next week would bring forth. You see,
he was after the treasure of Sir Tobias
Hele, among other matters, and he most
firmly clung to it that the dead man's stuff
was hid in the church. So sure was he
that he made a good few hopeful beside
himself; and one, above all the rest, began
to build in secret on that rainbow gold.
Toby Hele had got his own ideas on the
subject; but he kept them to himself very
close, and it was n't until after his fearful
experience that we remembered he had
been about in the church a lot at the time
and always at the elbows of the workers.
And sometimes when they were pulling
down, or probing a bit of the old masonry,
Toby would lend a hand, and sometimes
he 'd watch of a night; for some man
always watched while the work was going on. None thought anything of it,
however, because it was supposed the vicar
had appointed him to oversee the men,
and not let them hide aught of value that
might come to hand in their researches.
So the work of pulling down and cleaning
up went on, and all the Queen Anne mess
was cleared out of the church, and the
people fairly rubbed their eyes to see the
north aisle, a sight that had been lost to
three generations, if not more. But some
of the old folk liked it little, because there
was an echo in it, and now the church was
made a third so big again, the hotting apparatus proved far too weak to warm it.
So some was at the Rev. Valletort to get
a new stove with mightier power; but he
defied them, and said a stove was an
abomination, in his opinion, and he 'd just

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as soon put new organs and reed-pipes in

the place as a new warmer.
"There 's a lot too much talked about
warmth and comfort in the house of God,"
he said in a sermon at that time, and he
talked at old Simon White, the cordwainer, who had started the grumble.
"And I 'd have you to know, Simon, my
friend, and any others who feel like you
do, that we don't come to St. Christopher's
to be warm and comfortable. Such mean
creature enjoyments," he says, "can be got
to home, where the weaker vessels among
us may toast their feet and ease their backs,
with a pipe and a glass of a night, and
why not, so long as they only yield to
these luxuries when the day's work is
ended and no call of duty remains to be
answered? But this is the terrible house
of the Lord," says the reverend gentleman,
"and the man or woman whose thoughts
wander to their feet or their backs, or
who feels a draft in their ear-holes when
they ought to be waiting in fear and trembling to hear the whisper of their Maker
in their hearts, that man or woman has
mistaken the purposes of this place of worship. Their faith is weak; their danger is
great; they stand in peril of a warmth,
without comfort, that may endure-through
eternity."
In this valiant manner he would talk to
us, and then, out of kindly consideration
to the frailer people,them that can't pray
properly with a rick in the back or cold
feet,he explained that his work was
nearly done. And so it was. But two
yards of masonry remained to examine,
and a week more was to see it accomplished ; while as for the whitewash on the
ancient picture, a skilled workman from
Exeter had scratched it off, and there was
revealed a woebegone creature, all eyes
and legs, with a beard like a bush. And
most people said they wished the whitewash back, for the forlorn object only
made the grown-ups puzzle and the young
ones laugh; but his reverence set high
store upon it, and said that it was St.
Christopher himself, standing thigh-deep
in the flood, and all put there in the time
of Queen Bess, or maybe earlier. There
was a lot of fuss made, and learned men
came from far ways off to see it, and some
got properly hot about it, and argued
against what his reverence said. But of
course he knew best, and they went off

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669

with their tails between their legs when he a question, he 'd have told him he 'd made
broke loose upon them in all the wonder good search, and found the hole empty.
of his learning.
Yet what happened was very different,
Then came in Tobias Helethe live and no less a man than the Rev. Valletort
thatcher, not the dead knight. He 'd got himself told the rest of the tale. W h a t he
properly struck with the idea of the secret knew of it, that is; for nobody but Beth
hoard, and long before they reached to the Mannaford ever heard the whole truth
last bit of old wall, Tobias had poked while Toby Hele lived. You see, the man
about it and found out 't was hollow. wanted all his small pluck and more to
And he 'd summed up in his mind the bide in the church alone by night, with
treasure was there; and he 'd gone a lot naught save a horn lantern for company;
further than that also, and summed up in and certain it is that he 'd never have
offered for such work if his great love for
his mind the treasure was his.
You see, the Rev. Valletort had led him Beth and his hope of winning her with the
in a sort of way to that outrageous idea, treasure had not made him so brave as a
because he 'd told Hele that no doubt he robin just for the moment. But that hapwas descended through yeoman stock from pened then to scare a heaven-born hero,
the ancient lords of the manor, and taking I 'm sure, and there 's few men living now
mto consideration Toby's nice build and in Whiteworthy, and not a man living
delicate hands and gentlemanlike face, he there in them days, if you except the vicar
had told him that it looked as if he was a himself, who would have faced what Toby
set-back to the old, fine blood, despite the faced and kept their courage, even if they
fact it had doubtless run in the kennel kept their senses.
among common people for so many genAnyway, he did n't keep either, and but
erations.
for his reverence I doubt the man would
And so Toby, who only wanted a bit have come out alive.
of nonsense like that to spur him on, solYou see, parson, by good chance was
emnly pretended that he might count him- called out to old Noah Westlake's deathself the proper heir to the treasure. But bed, and Noah flickered long afore he
he had the wit to know that none would went. In fact, 't was two of the clock
agree with him, and so it followed natu- and a rough winter's night before the anrally he set out to get the stuff single- cient man gave up his spirit to its Maker.
handed, without taking any man into his W i t h that the reverend goes home, and
confidence. But a woman he took, and takes the short cut through the lich-gate
Beth Mannaford knew all about it, and and among the graves. Tramping along
she was very wishful for him to succeed, slow, and not thinking of anything but his
as she confessed after. Because money old parishioner, parson suddenly hears a
meant marriage for her, and though Toby dull sound in the holy building, and lisknew enough to guess he would n't find tens, and goes on the grass to make no
Bank of England crowns and sovereigns noise. ' T was a muffled hammering he
hid in the church, he 'd worked hisself up heard, and he knew in a moment that
to believing there might be plenty of pre- somebody was to work there. T h a t pleased
cious stuff there he could turn into cash, him rather than not, for he guessed that
if once he got his fingers to it.
only Toby Hele was the man to work by
And what he done was this: he took night in that way; and so he peeped in
the night watchman's place. And some- the window, and there made out Toby,
where after midnight, when all White- sure enough. T h e n parson was going
worthy was to bed and asleep, -Tobias round to the outer wall, where only a tarturned his attention to the hollow wall- paulin kept the weather out of the north
chamber. ' T was to come down the next aisle for the moment; but before he got
day, and he 'd got his lesson pat, no doubt, there he heard the awfulest scream that
and was ready to explain that for interest ever echoed in the Lord's house. And
in the subject he 'd fetched down the wall then he heard another, and when he groped
and saved a man or two his labor next in, there was Toby flying down the church
morning. Of course if he 'd found any like a maniac, and waving his lantern, and
valuables, his purpose was to hide 'em for yowling for mercy, and calling Heaven to
his own use; and if the vicar had raised save him from a fearful spectrum.

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Parson seed the man was demented, and

got hold on him, and called upon God to
let the evil spirit out of the wretch; and
presently Hele began to gibber and laugh
like a luny, and his reverence seed the
man's wits were wandering. He bided
with him in the squire's pew, and talked
and sobered him down after a good while;
and then by fits and between his ravings
the poor soul explained that he 'd just
broke through the stonework to the hollow
within, when what should he see but a
dreadful ghost glaring out upon him!
" ' T is the keeper of the treasure, and
I 've seen him, and I shall die inside the
year. I know it, for nobody could see
nothing like that and live," he whimpered
to the vicar. And then he fell to weeping
and wailing, and his bitter tears seemed to
clear his brain a bit; for he swore to the
reverend clergyman that he was only there
in a proper and prayerful spirit, and never
meant to take a threepenny piece of what
he might find. Of course the vicar did n't
doubt him, for he put complete faith in
Toby to the end, and thinking the lantern
light had deceived the man, or maybe he 'd
unearthed an ancient gargoyle, or some
such like fine thing, his reverence took the
light and went to see for himself what had
knocked the wits out of the younger man.
And he found the hollow in the wall
about as big as the mouth of an oven, and
there, sure enough, staring through it
without any eyes, was a human head. A
bit of hair was left on it yet; but for the
rest 't was just a 'natomy, and vicar, with
his far-reaching knowledge, understood iri
a moment that he stood afore a treasure.
T h e dead creature that had shook up Toby
so bad did naught but properly delight his
reverence; and if he 'd found a barrel of
gold and diamonds, he would n't have
been half so pleased. In fact, he set to
work there and then to pull down the masonry, and he made the trembling Tobias
help him.
By the lantern they worked and found
a proper rogue's roost of a hole in the
wall, and the skull of a man stuck on an
iron nail, and the rest of the bones of him
in a heap down under. And the reverend fairly sang praises at this mournful
sight, and could n't understand for the life
of him why Tobias were n't equally joyful. For he said 't was the most interesting thing as had ever happened to him in

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all his interesting life, and next Sunday,

of course, his sermon was full of it. But
Hele was n't there to hear, for they had to
take him to hospital after his adventure,
and he bided there a good while, with the
doctors working at him.
' T was just a grand, old church-grim,
you see, that Toby had found, and the
way of them is this, as the Rev. Valletort
explained. Of old the custom was to have
a watcher in every church, because in the
good, past days the churches was a lot
richer than now, and afore that dratted
Reformation the holy places was full of
plate and fine linen and silver candlesticks
and such like things that the pious poured
into 'em for their souls' sakes. So there
was watch-lofts set up, where a trusty man
bided by night to see that the thieves, who
were corrimoner then than now, did n't
break in to plunder. But presently some
chap with a turn for invention bethought
him that a dead watchman might be just
so clever as a live one, and a lot cheaper.
And of course everybody believed in ghosts
in them days; so there came in the fashion
of church-grims. They was generally
evil-doers, cut off in the midst of their
sins, or put out of the way by rope or ax
for their wrong-doing. And no doubt it
was reckoned by kindly men of a religious
turn of mind that such unruly and wicked
members might atone for their lives and
get pardon for their crimes by the merciful goodness of the Lord, if they were
walled up in the holy places, to watch till
doom and the day of judgment. N o doubt
it was on the principle of setting a thief to
catch a thief, and you may be sure that
many a dead thief was walled up for his
spectrum to scare away the living ones in
those exciting times. But whether our
church-grim done his work well before
Toby Hele's time, I cannot say. Certain
it is, however, that he got back on Toby,
and the man was never the same again,
for his hair went white afore he turned
fifty.
W e had the old bones carefully walled
up once more, after all the parish and a
brave rally of learned men had seen them,
and out of evil cariie good even for Toby,
too; for such was the man's collapse that
he could n't sleep in his bed alone no more
after the fearfuL adventure, and when the
vicar heard how the affair had told upon
him, for sheer gratitude to Hele for his

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FROM T H E LOG OF T H E
great discovery, and quite forgetting the
church-grim must have come to the light
next day, whether or no, he gave Tobias
five shillings a week for his natural life,
and thought better of him than ever as a
martyr to learning.
And with an addition like that to his
money, of course the man was in a case
to wed. Which he did do, and went so
straight as a line ever after, by all accounts.
Not till he came to his own death-bed
did he confess he was up to no good on
that far-famed night in St. Christopher's;
but Toby did n't tell the story to Parson

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671

Valletort, because he, good man, had long

been gathered to his fathers. It was to
my own father that he told it a week before his end, and my father did n't blame
the man overmuch, because, though at first
sight it had looked as if he was rewarded
for wrong-doing, instead of punished, as
he deserved to be, yet, as father said, you
had to remember the price. Toby's spirit
was never stronger than a girl child's from
that night; and besides, he was often heard
to whisper that he had no luck with his
wife, after all. Very like she thought the
same of him, even if she had too much
pride to confess it.

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C O P E N H A G E N : F O U R T H PAPER

BY ARNOLD BENNETT
Author of '* Clayhanger," " The Old Wives' T a l e , " etc.
PICTURES BY E. A. RICKARDS

CROSS the great expanse of Kjoge

. Bay, Copenhagen first became visible as a group of factory chimneys under
a firmament of smoke. W e approached
it rapidly upon smooth water, and ran
into the narrowing bottle-neck of Kallebo,
with the main island of Sjselland to the
west and the appendant island of Amager
to the east. Copenhagen stands on both,
straddling over a wide connecting bridge
which carries double lines of electric
trams and all the traffic of a metropolis.
W h e n a yacht, even a small one, wishes
to enter the harbor, this bridge is cut in
two and lifted into the air, and the traffic
impatiently champs its bit while waiting
for the yacht.
Apparently they understand yachts at
Copenhagen, as they do in Holland. At
the outer barrier of the harbor we were
not even requested to stop. A cheerful
and beneficent functionary cried out for
our name, our captain's name, our tonnage, and our immediate origin, and, his
curiosity being sated,; waved ms onward.
T h e great bridge bisected itself for us
with singular promptitude. Nevertheless,

the gold-buttoned man in charge thereof

from his high perch signaled to us that
our burgee was too small. W e therefore,
having nothing else handy to placate him,
ran up a blue ensign to the masthead; but
it looked so excessively odd there, so
acutely contrary to the English etiquette
of yachts, that we at once hauled it down
again. No further complaint was made.
W e were now in the haven, and over
the funnels of many ships we could see the
city. It was all copper domes and roofs;
and we saw that it was a proud city, and
a city where exposed copper turns to a
beautiful green instead of to black, as in
London. Splendid copper domes are the
chief symptom of Copenhagen. After all
the monotonous, tiny provincialism of the
peninsula and of the islands, it was sensational to find a vast capital at the far end
of the farthest island. W e thought we
were coming to the end of the world, and
we came to a complete and dazzling city
that surpassed, for example, Brussels in
its imposingness. W e turned westward
out of the main channel into the heart of
the town, and in a moment were tied up

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