a severe one. The Juxon estate was reported to be out of Chancery, and a
new squire was coming to take up his residence at the Hall.

It is not known exactly how the thing first became known, but there was
soon no doubt whatever that it was true. Thomas Reid, the sexton, who
remembered that the old squire died forty years ago come Michaelmas, and
had been buried in a "wonderful heavy" coffin, Thomas Reid the stern
censor of the vicar's sermons, a melancholic and sober man, so far lost
his head over the news as to ask Mr. Ambrose's leave to ring the bells,
Mr. Abraham Boosey having promised beer for the ringers. Even to the
vicar's enlightened mind it seemed fitting that there should be some
festivity over so great an event and the bells were accordingly rung
during one whole afternoon. Thomas Reid's ringers never got beyond the
first "bob" of a peal, for with the exception of the sexton himself and
old William Speller the wheelwright, who pulled the treble bell, they
were chiefly dull youths who with infinite difficulty had been taught
what changes they knew by rote and had very little idea of ringing by
scientific rule. Moreover Mr. Boosey was liberal in the matter of beer
that day and the effect of each successive can that was taken up the
stairs of the old tower was immediately apparent to every one within
hearing, that is to say as far as five miles around.

The estate was out of Chancery at last. For forty years, ever since the
death of the old squire, no one had rightfully called the Hall his own.
The heir had lived abroad, and had lived in such an exceedingly eccentric
manner as to give ground for a suit _de lunatico inquirendo_, brought by
another heir. With the consistency of judicial purpose which
characterises such proceedings the courts appeared to have decided that
though the natural possessor, the eccentric individual who lived abroad,
was too mad to be left in actual possession, he was not mad enough to