Castaways of the Flying Dutchman

knife. He

punched it through the corroded metal and began vigorously working it along the edge. The tin was not as weak as it

first appeared to be, and the old seaman's opener caused a skreeking noise that made the three young people wince. He

stopped only when he had cut down three edges. 'Papers!'

Covering his palm with the sleeve edge of his jersey, he wrenched the flap of tin back and shook out the

contents onto the table. Immediately the four began sorting through the papers. They were yellowed with age. Amy

studied one.

'Old back issues of the Chapelvale Chronicle! Look at this one, it's dated 1783. 'Pitt the Younger becomes

British Prime Minister.' 'American Independence to be recognized.' 'Monsieur Montgolfier is to fly in a balloon.' I'll

bet Mr. Braithwaite would be interested in these.'

Jon piled them in a stack. He seemed disappointed. 'Well, they're of little use to anyone else. Come on, lass,

let's take them over to him.'

Being a historian, Mr. Braithwaite was delighted with the find. So eager was he to have the papers that he made

a grab at them, knocked them off the library desk, and sent them in a cascade across the parquet floor. 'Er, oh dear, er,

I do beg your pardon, Mr. Preston. Very, er, clumsy of me, I'm sure!'

But the old carpenter was not listening, he was holding up a square of material which had fallen out from

between the folds of one edition of the Chronicle. 'Look what I've found.'

Alex recognized the thing instantly. 'That's a needlework sampler, like children used to embroider their

alphabets on. What does it say?'

Amy knelt by Jon and read aloud the bit she could understand. ' 'Evelyn De Winn. 1673.' Ben, it was sewn by

one of Winnie's family!' The embroidered writing was extremely neat, showing what a clever needlewoman Evelyn

De Winn had been, though it was hard to make out the rest of the letters, as a lot of them were strangely archaic, each

letter s being shaped like an f.

Mr. Braithwaite was suddenly transformed from a bumbling librarian into a scholar of Old English text. He took

up pen and paper excitedly. 'Give it here, I'll translate for you. Amelia, sit there and write this down, please!'

There were no 'ers,' 'ahs,' or other hesitations from Mr. Braithwaite as he dictated in a clear, slow voice to her:

'Take the Commandments paces west,

away from the bless'd naming place,

to where the heavenly twins stand ever

gazing at Sol's dying face.

Turn as a third Gospelmaker would

to the house named for the rock,

'twixt here and there you must stop to drink,

your first reward to unlock.'

Mr. Braithwaite scratched his fuzzy mane. 'Hmm, 1670, a time of persecution for British Catholics and noncon-

formists. That was when the almshouse ceased to be St. Peter's and the new church was built on the hilltop. They

called it the Chapelvale Church, though secretly it was still known to the local Catholics as St. Peter's, hence its

present name.'

Jon indicated the sampler. 'Thankee, sir, you can keep this for your library archives, we'll make do with Amy's

translation.'

The librarian was once again his former self. 'Er, quite, er, that is, thank you, Mr., er, yes, very good!'

25.

BACK AT THE ALMSHOUSE ALL TIDYING UP was forgotten as they sat around the big oblong table and

studied the poem from the sampler and Amy read out the first line slowly.' 'Take the Commandments paces west.''

Jon shrugged his shoulders. 'What's a Commandments pace?'

Ben had guessed, but he let Alex answer. 'Must mean ten paces, because . . . there's ten Commandments!'

'True, true.' The old man nodded approvingly. Ben winked at Alex. 'Well done, pal.'

' 'Away from the bless'd naming place,' ' Amy went on.

Alex looked disappointed. 'That's not so easy.'

Amy reasoned, 'Whatever a bless'd naming place is, we've got to take ten paces away from it. Naming place,

naming place. Any ideas, Ben?'

Ben looked stumped. 'Naming place, let me see... Does it mean the name of a place, or a name like mine and

yours, Amy, Alex, Jon—'

The old ship's carpenter interrupted. 'I remember when I was young, I hated my full title, Jonathan. Though my

ma used to say, 'Jonathan you were christened and Jonathan you shall stay.' You can't change your christening name!'

Ned had settled down for his afternoon nap beneath the table, when Ben disturbed him by banging on the table

as he gritted out in frustration, 'The bless'd naming place, where is it?'

Recognition hit Alex like a slap in the face. 'Christening! Naming place! It's where they baptize babies!' Amy

whooped delightedly and hugged him. 'What a clever brother I've got, he's a genius!'

Crimson-faced, Alex shrugged off his sister's embrace. 'Where was the naming place here, Jon, d'you know?'

Ned flashed his master a thought. 'Right under this table, I think. Feels as if this bumpy chunk of stone's the

base of something bigger that was broken off.' The Labrador shuffled lazily out to find another napping spot,

remarking, 'Of course, I might be wrong, but it's worth a try.'

Ben mentally answered his friend's idea. 'Thanks, pal. Now let's see if I can discover it without giving away our

secret.'

Jon was stroking his beard, looking this way and that.

'Hmm, baptismal font, every church has one, though I've never thought of a font being in this old place.

Hmmm.'