SUMMER ROLLED ON TOWARD AUTUMN. One morning after breakfast, Ben and his dog accompanied
Winnie into the village on her weekly shopping trip. They sauntered into the square together, Ned slightly ahead,
carrying the woven cane basket in his jaws. Ben stared at the ground, scuffing the dusty cobbles. Winnie watched him
with some concern.
'What is it, Ben, you don't look too cheerful today Do you feel ill, is that it?'
The quiet boy flicked his hair aside and managed a smile. 'Oh, I'll brighten up, I suppose. Didn't sleep too well
last night, that's all. I'm all right, really.'
The old lady's hand caressed his cheek. 'You're thinking of leaving, aren't you.'
Ben took the basket from his dog's mouth and handed it to her. He could not explain the dreams that had been
haunting him for the past two nights. Booming waves, hissing surf, creaking rigging, and the, slap of wet sails against
taut ropes.
Vanderdecken's ranting voice and his mad eyes. In his dreams the angel's voice echoed clear again.
'When you hear the toll of a church bell, you must leave this place and travel on!'
The boy turned his clouded blue eyes away from the old lady. 'You do your shopping, Miz Winn. I'll go over to
the almshouse and see how the new project's coming along.'
She watched him walking across the square with Ned trotting alongside. A boy and his dog. A sudden sadness
descended on her, and she called after her strange friend.
'I'll see you at Evans Tea Shoppe for lunch, Ben.'
Without turning, he waved his hand.
As Ben dropped his hand, his big, black dog licked it. 'I know, you don't have to tell me, mate, we share the
same dreams, remember?'
Ben scratched the dog's ear gently. 'Aye, we've left a lot of places behind in our travels, but this village and the
friends we've made here ... I tell you, it's going to be hard to leave Chapelvale.'
Looking up, he saw Alex waving to them from the almshouse door.
Almost everybody was there. Amy threw an arm around Ben's shoulder, leading him into the building. Sheaves
of reconstruction blueprints were laid out on the table. Jon, Will, Mr. Braithwaite, and Mr. Mackay were studying
them. Amy coughed, waving her hand at the dust that was floating about. She called to Regina and her friends. 'Stop
that sweeping for a moment, please. Could you start carrying those benches outside?'
Her brother wrinkled his nose. 'Oh, all right, bossy boots. Come on, Regina, Tommo, let's take this big one
between us.'
The old seaman took a pencil from behind his ear and made a minor adjustment to one of the blueprints. 'There,
we can extend the evening tea garden out into the old graveyard at the rear.'
Ben raised his eyebrows. 'Evening tea garden?'
The girl nodded. 'Wonderful idea, isn't it? Dai and Blod-wen Evans are employing Hetty Sullivan to run the tea
garden five evenings a week, after the Tea Shoppe closes in the late afternoon. They'll be supplying her with the
materials, of course. Hetty's delighted with her new job. Show him the other plans, Curator Preston.'
The old ship's carpenter assumed a mock dignified attitude. 'Ahem, that's my new title, y'know, Curator Preston,
of the Preston-Braithwaite Collection. I'm going to be Caretaker Handyman, too. Good, isn't it, I never had that many
high-flown titles in my sailin' days. Mrs. Winn wants the old almshouse to be part of our village life, not an old ruin
molder-ing away unused at the corner of the square. Apart from rethatching the roof, and the addition of a window or
two, the outside'll look pretty much the same, nice an' quaint.
'But inside there'll be the collection, the cross, chalice, candlesticks, and deeds, all in display cases, together
with the story of how Chapelvale was saved. We all get a mention in it, even good old Ned. Then there's the evenin'
tea garden and an extra room inside for any village meetings, dances, young people's events. We're even gettin' a
small library—Mr. Braith-waite will be in charge of that. A proper little village hall for everyone to use, eh, lad!'
The boy shook his friend's big, tattooed hand heartily. 'Sounds wonderful, mate. When will all the rebuilding
work start?'
Mr. Mackay interrupted. The dapper little lawyer was positively beaming. 'First thing Monday morning, m'boy!
My friend the magistrate and I visited the firm of Jackman Donning and Bowe in London last week. We came to an
amicable agreement with them. This morning I received by special post a check for a considerable amount. Together
with the express wish that the name of Jackman Donning and Bowe never be associated with past events in
Chapelvale and the hope that all will be forgotten.'
Mr. Mackay actually performed a small dance of triumph as he pulled forth the check and waved it over his
head. 'Sufficient funds for our almshouse restoration fund. The workmen arrive with materials on Monday morning,
eight o'clock sharp!'
Mr. Braithwaite looked up from a list of new books he was studying. 'Quite, er, very good, very, er, er, good.
Yes!'
Will Drummond picked a crowbar from a wheelbarrow of tools he had brought from the farmhouse. 'Aye, lad,
meanwhile 'tis our job to clear all the rubbish from this almshouse an' make it ready. Here y'are, Curator Preston, the
crowbar you asked for, sir!'
Jon hefted the long curved iron, moving to the center of the room.
His blue eyes twinkled as he winked at Ben.
'You can lend a hand later, shipmate, but first there's something I've got to do, just to satisfy my own curiosity.'
The boy gave his friend a puzzled look. 'Of course I'll help, but what's the crowbar for?'
