"I did so, Joseph. 'Twas the day that I told old Gasper, who called me a beardless boy, that if he lived long enough, he should see my beard reach my girdle; and he laughed and said, when that day came, he would give me two oxen."
"So that's the reason you wear a beard!" cried Franz. "But, Sandwirth, surely such a match as that we have been speaking of, was fine sport! I call it play, not work; and therefore no breaking of the Sabbath."
The Sandwirth, however, would not retract.
"Play like that," said he, thoughtfully and impressively, as though he weighed every word before he spoke it, "is often as fatiguing as work; and it sometimes leads to quarrels, and to taking God's holy name in vain. Anyhow, it is not rest; and God bade us rest, mind you, on the Sabbath-day."
"Pleasure is rest," said Franz.
"No, pleasure is often the hardest of work," said the Sandwirth.
"That's true, too," said Speckbacher, as if a sudden light streamed in upon him.
"Well, I know, to lie on my back with nothing to do but twiddle my thumbs, would to me be the hardest work of all," said Franz.
"I wonder," said Speckbacher, after a short pause, "if such are your views, that you mean to have a Sunday shooting-match at all."
"I've a purpose," said the Wirth in a low voice; and then, in a louder key, as he rose and went towards the door, "I am going forth to look at the weather, sir," said he. "The storm has, I think, overblown; but if not, and you like to pass the night here, my wife shall prepare you a bed."