The Bell

swim. When he had opened the door and stepped half inside he paused, as he always did, wondering where Nick Fawley was. Murphy came forward wagging his tail and jumped up rather lazily, presenting his two forelegs to the boy to hold. Toby held him for a moment, nuzzling down onto the soft warm head, and then straightened up. No sign of Nick. He was probably out. With a feeling of relief Toby bounded noisily up the stairs and got his bathing trunks. Admonished by James he had got some cheaply in the village. He took his towel, which was rather grimy and rebarbative by now with the mud of frequent swims, but still serving.

As he emerged onto the landing he heard Nick’s voice calling him from the next room. He went to the door and looked in. Nick was in bed. This was not unusual; he ought to have thought that Nick might be in bed.

“Who was spouting?” said Nick. He was propped up on his pillows and had been reading a detective story.

“James was,” said Toby. He was impatient to be away.

“Any good?” said Nick.

“Yes, jolly good,” said Toby. He felt embarrassed talking about this to Nick.

“What was it about?” said Nick.

“Oh, innocence and all that,” said Toby.

Nick, still in pyjamas, his plump face puffed out on the pillows, the long greasy wig of his hair descending on either side, suddenly looked to Toby like the Wolf pretending to be Grandmamma in the story. He smiled at the thought and felt less embarrassed.

“I’ll give you a sermon one day,” said Nick. “They haven’t asked me to spout, so I’ll give you a private one.”

Toby could think of nothing to say to this. He wondered how to take his leave, and said “Shall I take Murphy swimming with me?”

“If Murphy wants to come”, said Nick, “he’ll come even if you don’t want him, and if he doesn’t want to come he won’t even if you do.”

This was true enough. Toby said “Ah, well,” and rather ponderously raised his hand in a vague salute. Nick continued to stare at him till he turned and departed. It could not be said to have been a successful conversation.

Released, Toby ran quickly downstairs and out across the grass, calling to Murphy who seemed only too eager to come. Toby had with him his underwater swimming gear, the mask and the breathing tube, which he hoped he might find some chance to use somewhere in the lake. The river pools where he had swum so far, though deliciously clear, were rather shallow. Today Toby thought he would go toward the farther end of the lake, beyond the Abbey, where he had not yet explored. From the causeway he had seen in the distance what looked like a gravelly beach, on the Court side of the lake. Round about there the water might be clearer. He decided he would make a reconnaissance before lunch and come back again for longer later on. He had been saving up this expedition. He did not want to exhaust the mysteries of Imber too quickly.

He crossed in the ferry. Murphy elected on this occasion to ride in the boat, walking around boldly in the bottom of it, and making it rock by planting his paws on the edge. On reaching the other side Toby began to “run across the open grass by the Court, and passing the end of the causeway, took the lakeside path towards the wood. He was longing to be in the water and didn’t want to be delayed by meeting anyone. As he neared the wood he saw Dr and Mrs Greenfield. They seemed to be disputing about something, and when they saw him they turned away along the path that led inland toward the kitchen garden. Once inside the wood Toby ran even faster, but now for sheer delight, jumping over the long strands of bramble and the hummocks of grass which were growing freely on what used to be the path. Evidently no one came along this way.

The path followed the lake side, divided from the water by an irregular hedge of greenery, finding its way through a tunnel dappled by circles of sunshine and shifting watery reflections. Deeper in the wood the dog was running parallel to the boy and could be heard blundering through the undergrowth and scuffing the dead leaves. Toby slowed down at last, and walked along panting, looking to see where he was. Through the bushes at the water’s edge he could see the other shore of the lake, the part where the Abbey enclosure was unwalled. He paused and looked across. There was a wood over there, very like this wood. And yet, he thought, how very different everything must be over there. He wondered if, in that wood, there were neat well-kept paths, along which the nuns walked in meditation, their habits dragging on the grassy verge. As he was watching, suddenly on the other side two nuns came into view. Toby froze, wondering if he was well hidden. The nuns took what must be a clear path fairly near the water. They were a little screened by bushes and tall reeds, but every now and then they emerged into full sunlight and he could see that their skirts were hitched up a little to reveal stout black shoes, as they walked at a brisk pace along beside the lake. They turned to each other and seemed to be talking. Then the next moment, as clear as a bell, he heard one of them laugh. They turned away from him and back into the darkness of the wood.

That laugh moved Toby strangely. Of course there was no reason why nuns shouldn’t laugh, though he never normally imagined them laughing. But such a laugh, he thought, must be a very very good thing: one of the best things in the world. To be good and gay was surely the highest of human destinies. With these thoughts he recalled James’s talk of this morning. What James had said about innocence was surely in a way meant for him. Naturally he could not claim, as Catherine could, to have kept and guarded his innocence. How well old James had struck off just that thing that one felt about Catherine, what made her so exceptional: a sense of something retained. He himself had not been tried yet; how true what James had said about the keeping of innocence being enough of a task! Yet, Toby reflected, would it really be so difficult if one were fully aware? The trouble with so many young people nowadays was that they were not aware. They seemed to go through their youth in a daze, in a dream. Toby was certain of being awake. He was amazed, when people said that youth was wonderful, only one didn’t realize it at the time. Toby did realize it at the time, was realizing it now as he paced along close to the water, his shirt wet with perspiration, feeling already the cool emanations from the lake. He was glad he had come to Imber, glad he had surrounded himself with all these good people. He was full of thanksgiving to God and a sense of the renewal of his faith. A conviction overpowered him of the almost impersonal power within him of his own pure intent. This was perhaps what was meant by grace. Not I, but Christ in me. He felt, remembering the sudden gaiety of the nun’s laughter over the water, a sense of joy which seemed both physical and spiritual at the same time and almost lifted him off the ground. When one was so favoured it was not difficult to be good.

As he reflected he had been walking slowly on, and looking ahead now he realized that he had reached his destination. He saw at once with interest that what he had taken to be a gravelly beach was in fact a wide stone ramp which led gently down into the water. His lofty thoughts forgotten, he examined the scene. A few rotting stumps in the lake beyond the ramp suggested that there had once been a wooden landing-stage; and the woodland for a little distance around had been cleared, though now weeds and grass had plentifully covered the area. There were traces of stone and gravel, and in the midst a wide pathway led back into the wood. Toby threw down his swimming things and started along the path. He saw in a moment or two that there was a building of some sort ahead of him. He was confronted by what seemed to be a very old tumbled-down barn. The roof, which had once been stone-tiled, was partly fallen in, and the roof timbers, made of fir wood, with bark and ragged branch ends still showing on them, could be seen at one end, pointing upwards in gaunt empty arches. The walls were of thick roughly hewn stone, piled together in mortarless intricacy. Toby decided it must be a medieval barn. He approached the gaping entrance with caution and looked in. A huge door opened on the other side towards the pasture, but the place was twilit within. It was quite empty except for some old rotting sacks and boxes. It echoed a little. The mud floor was as hard as cement, though cracked here and there under the broken part of the roof by grass and thistles. Looking up Toby saw the great cross beams, immensely thick, each one made long ago from the stem of a huge oak. Enormous cobwebs entangled the beams and made a textile net under the peak of the roof. Up there something, perhaps a bat, was stirring in the lofty darkness. Toby hurried through and out the other side.

He could now see through the trees the wider light of the pastureland. He walked on. By the edge of the pasture a concrete path, used perhaps for the transit of logs, ran along beside the wood in the direction of the Court. Once perhaps the barn had stood on the verge of the grass, but now the wood had captured it and it was derelict and useless. Excited by his discovery Toby bounded back toward the shore of the lake and the cheerful open sunshine which he could see ahead of him along the path. He found Murphy sitting on the ramp, guarding his things, his long tongue drooping in the heat, with the patient smiling face of a panting dog.

It had been chilly in the barn. The sun warmed Toby now with a luxurious zeal. He looked at the water and