"Here I am."
"Come along!" was the answer. It was the priest who had called to him.
Hansei hurried down from the tree and now received the greatest honor that had yet been paid him. The priest beckoned to him, and Hansei approached, hat in hand.
"I wish you joy!" said the priest. "Come along to the inn; the host of the Chamois has opened a fresh tap."
Hansei looked at himself to see what had come over him. To think of the priest's inviting him to walk with him, and to drink in his company, too!
He received the new honor with dignity. While he walked with the priest, the people whom they met along the road would lift their hats and he would acknowledge their greetings quite affably.
In the large room at the Chamois, where every one was either talking to or of him, he felt so happy that he opened the roll of money, without, however, removing it from his pocket. He meant to offer the first piece to the priest, so that he might say a mass for Walpurga. But the pieces were so large. They were all crown thalers. And so Hansei merely said:
"I wish you'd say a mass for my wife and child. I'll pay you."
It was already twilight. The guests gradually departed. But Hansei remained sitting there, as if rooted to the spot. At last, he and the inn-keeper were the only ones in the room.
"Now that they've all had a talk at you," said the innkeeper, "you may as well listen to me. No one means it as kindly with you as I do, and I'm not a fool, either. Do you know what would suit you, Hansei, and would suit your wife still better?"