It was interminably slow, and it was laborious; but, to speak comparatively, it was safe.

My boots lasted me to within twenty feet of the parapet, and then, just as I had kicked my toes bare, a steeplejack appeared at the little doorway with a ladder.
Planting it in a jiffy, he scrambled up, took me under his arm, bore me down and laid me against the parapet, where at first I began to cry and then emptied my small body with throe after throe of sickness.
I recovered to find Mr.Scougall and another clergyman (the vicar) standing by the little door and gazing up at my line of holes on the face of the spire.

Mr.Scougall was offering to pay.
"But no," said the vicar, "we will set the damage down against the lad's preservation; that is, if I don't recover from the contractor, who has undoubtedly swindled us over these slates.".