CHAPTER X.
THE THIRD SHIP.
We return to Ruan church, whence this history started.

The parson was there in his surplice, by the altar; the bride was there in her white frock, by the chancel rails; her father, by her side, was looking at his watch; and the parishioners thronged the nave, shuffling their feet and loudly speculating.

For the bridegroom had not appeared.
Ruby's face was white as her frock.

Parson Babbage kept picking up the heavy Prayer-book, opening it, and laying it down impatiently.
Occasionally, as one of the congregation scraped an impatient foot, a metallic sound made itself heard, and the buzz of conversation would sink for a moment, as if by magic.
For beneath the seats, and behind the women's gowns, the whole pavement of the church was covered with a fairly representative collection of cast-off kitchen utensils--old kettles, broken cake-tins, frying-pans, saucepans--all calculated to emit dismal sounds under percussion.
Scattered among these were ox-bells, rook-rattles, a fog-horn or two, and a tin trumpet from Liskeard fair.

Explanation is simple: the outraged feelings of the parish were to be avenged by a shal-lal as bride and bridegroom left the church.