140 The Guardians of the Door

And Mary repeated the rhyme:
God bless this house from thatch to floor,
The twelve Apostles guard the door,
And four good Angels watch my bed,
Two at the foot and two the head.
Amen,

“There could not be a better prayer, dear
child!” rejoined the Vicar, with a smile.
“Go home now, and do not be troubled by
what idle tongues may say. Every night
repeat your little prayer, and God will take
care of you.”

Late that night, however, the Vicar lit his
lantern and went out of doors, without a
word to any one. All the village was still
and dark as he walked slowly up the road
towards the moor.

“She is a good girl,” he said to himself,
“but people may have observed something
which has given rise to these stories. I will
go and see with my own eyes.”

The stars were shining far away in the
dark sky, and the green plovers were crying
mournfully on the dark moor. As he passed
along the lantern swung out a dim light
across the road, which had neither walls nor
hedges.