‘I’m sorry, Papa,’ answered Cicely. ‘’Tis such a lovely night, and it’s so good to be home. I was on the sea-wall.’

It was when they were going through the Lych Gate that Cicely stopped. ‘Oh Lud, I do declare I must have lost my gloves. Now where did I drop them? I’ll run back and look, for they were such a lovely pair. I may have left them in the Vicarage. So you two dears go on. Do not wait for me.’ And so saying, she sped back again.

While Cicely was crossing the Glebe field for the second time, Mr. Mipps in his capacity of Parish Clerk was crossing the hall of the Vicarage with an enormous tome, marked Dymchurch Tithes. ‘The Tithe Book, sir, for your settlement with the Vicar.’ He spoke apparently into thin air for the room seemed to be empty. As he walked he elongated himself as if trying to make himself taller.

‘You seem to have acquired a stiff neck, Mr. Mipps.’ The voice came from behind the lectern. ‘’Tis not the Marsh ague, I hope? Or has your blushing ear been getting you into trouble again?’

Mister Mipps was all indignant, and snapped: ‘’Tain’t nothin’ to do with my inflamed ear, and I hain’t hacquired a stiff neck neither. I’m hendeavouring to hacquire a few hinches, halludin’ to me as if I was a dwarf. “Little man.” In front of others, too.’

He put the book down on the side of the lectern nearest to him with a slam, and in his own phraseology he ‘beanstalked’ acros the room to get ink and quill.

Mr. Mipps was so busy with his lack of inches that he did not notice that the front door had opened quietly and around it peeped the face of Cicely.

The voice from behind the lectern continued: ‘You ability for acquiring knowledge of current affairs, Mr. Mipps, would make me respect you were you a giant.’ This was too much for Mr. Mipps and he retorted quickly:

‘And your ability for making yourself laugh may get us all in a trouble, and I weren’t at no key’ole when I ’eard that. Miss Cicely called her a goose, but I can think of a adjective; in front of them Dragoons too. Now look ’ere, Cap’n, if you persists in rollin’ up your sleeve, we’re sunk.’

It was then that Cicely decided to knock upon the door, causing Mr. Mipps to turn round as if he had been shot. Upon seeing her he relaxed, and when she beckoned to him he went quickly towards her.

‘Mr. Mipps,’ she whispered, ‘has Mr. Scarecrow gone?’ He was delighted to see her. He grinned. ‘Yes, miss,’ he nodded assuredly. But was this the right answer? He hadn’t looked behind the lectern. Was it Doctor Syn or the Scarecrow? He decided on a middle course. ‘I don’t know, miss.’ Oh, better be definite. ‘No, miss.’ Oh dear, he was still doubtful. ‘Yes, miss.’ Oh, better not to have heard at all. ‘What, miss? What did you say, miss?’

‘I said I’d lost my gloves, Mr. Mipps.’ What a relief, perhaps he hadn’t heard right after all. ‘Oh, your gloves, miss,’ he said with complete understanding. ‘Did you, miss? I’ve not seen them, miss.’ He began to look round hopefully. ‘Where did you drop ’em, miss?’

‘I didn’t, Mr. Mipps.’

‘Oh, you didn’t!’ He was completely at sea.

‘No,’ she went on. ‘I said I’d come to see Mr. Scarecrow.’

Thinking that his weather ear had run mad, or that Miss Cicely was confused after her journey, he determined to brazen it out. ‘There now, did you, miss? I didn’t hear you, miss.’

An impersonal voice came from behind the lectern. ‘You seem to be in trouble, Mr. Mipps. Is someone asking for me?’

‘Yessir,’ he gasped. ‘That is — er — no, sir.’ At his wits’ end he finished in a desperate rush — almost in tears: ‘It’s Miss Cicely, sir, she’s come to see Mr. Scarecrow, sir.’ From behind the lectern appeared the benign face of Doctor Syn. ‘Why, Cicely child,’ he said with some surprise, ‘how glad I am to see you back. Mr. Mipps has been telling me of your extraordinary adventures.’

Mr. Mipps, determined not to be brought into it again, and thinking his own adventures quite extraordinary enough, hurried back, for Horace, who at least couldn’t answer back, for Horace, who had been his friend and confidant for many years, was a large black spider that lived in the beam from which Mr. Mipps slung his hammock, waking him each morning by sliding down from this fighting-top to the lower deck of Mr. Mipps’s nose.

Upon seeing Doctor Syn, Cicely uttered a cry of disappointment. ‘Why, ’tis only our dear old Doctor Syn. Then I am too late. How teasing.’ Then upon seeing that the Vicar was looking somewhat hurt, she begged his pardon and told him how glad she was to see him, explaining that the reason for this late return to his house was a pair of gloves which she thought she must have dropped here. ‘Though I must confess I used the missing gloves as an excuse, for I did so want to see the Scarecrow paying you his tithes.’

‘Then you are too late, dear Cicely, and I am equally disappointed, for I hoped that your return here was to let me see you safe and sound.’

‘Oh, but I assure you, I should have come to see you first thing in the morning,’ replied Cicely, adding a little mischievously that she always knew where to find the beloved Vicar, unless, of course, he was out on some errand of mercy, which apparently he had been that night. She supposed it was that poor old Mrs. Wooley again, and vowed she would take her some hot soup in the morning, adding carelessly, ‘how much did the Scarecrow pay?’

Doctor Syn looked at her with not a little curiosity. ‘Why, Cicely,’ he said, ‘what is this sudden interest in such a complicated matter as the payment of tithes?’

She glanced up at him, eyes wide with feigned innocence — and with the suspicion of a smile about the corners of her mouth, answered: ‘Oh, ’tis not a sudden interest. I just wished to see if I am good at reckoning. Was it a large sum?’

Doctor Syn became very vague. ‘Eh, child,’ he said, peering at her through his spectacles. ‘Let me see: well, if I remember what I wrote in the book this time, ’twas a mere trifle.’

At this she seemed to be full of concern, mixed with not a little indignation, saying that she had long suspected that his eyesight was failing, and that he could not have written aright, and she hoped that the Scarecrow wasn’t cheating him, for he had told her most distinctly that tonight’s cargo was a very valuable one.

‘Come, let me see those glasses,’ she said with pretended anxiety. ‘I fear they cannot be strong enough for your poor old eyes,’ as with a deal of motherly care she took them from his nose and looked through them, saying it was just what she had expected and little better than plain glass, and that she would insist upon his going to London with her father the very next time he went to visit his oculist. But for her part, were she his physician she would order him to throw away his years and not to add to them, stressing that without his glasses he might well be old Doctor Syn’s younger brother. ‘No, no, do not move,’ she said, for Doctor Syn was trying to escape her penetrating look and the beruffled hands that firmly held his arms. But for all that, her grip tightened and she continued to gaze, frowning and fussing. ‘Let me look at you more closely. Yes, ’tis true, you are pale. Perhaps ’tis exercise you need. Jogging about on that churchyard pony cannot be good for you. I must ask Papa to give you a more spirited mount, and you must learn to ride. I could teach you.’

Was there a hint of a smile in Doctor Syn’s unbespectacled eyes? Indeed he had no need of them. He saw as well without them as with their protective, ageing screen. He answered quietly: ‘Perhaps Doctor Syn’s younger brother could teach you more things than you have ever dreamt of, Miss Cicely. But I fear that I am not he, and must indeed be failing. ’Tis gracious of you to worry over a poor parson in his dotage. But let us talk of something that interests you more.’

‘Why then,’ she answered very quietly, ‘let us talk of the Scarecrow, for he is the most interesting man I have ever met, if man he be, though I do not really think there is truth in the rumour that he is a ghost. To me, he seemed most real. Aye, and with a heart too, for I felt it beating on the ride from Paris when my horse failed. ’Tis true,’ she went on earnestly, ‘he appears and vanishes like a ghost, for I was swept from the saddle before I felt the horse stumble. But down it went, and I might have gone with it but for a strong arm that certainly did not belong to a spectre.’