'Surely I must have been dreaming,' said the good man, as he stood with rueful eyes at the little casement, 'for there are not any signs either of the gifts or the labours of the pious sons of the church.'
In this puzzled frame of mind, and with a heavy sigh, he once more courted sleep. He had not slumbered long, however, when loud knocks at the door of his dwelling and lusty cries for Father Ambrose disturbed him. Hastily attiring himself, he descended, to find a concourse of people assembled in front of the house; and no sooner had he opened the door than a mason cried out—
'Father Ambrose, where are the foundations we laid yesterday, and where is the stone from the quarry?'
'Then I did not simply dream that I had blessed the site?' said the old man, inquiringly.
Upon which there was a shout of laughter, and a sturdy young fellow asked—
'And I did not dream that I carted six loads from the quarry?'
'Th' Owd Lad's hed a hand int',' said a labourer, 'for t' fielt's as if fuut hed never stept int'.'
The priest and his people at once set off to inspect the site, and sure enough it was in the state described by the mason; cowslips and buttercups decking the expanse of green, which took different shades as the zephyr swept over it.
'Well, I'm fair capped,' said a grey-headed old farmer. 'I've hed things stown afoor today, bud they'n generally bin things wi' feathers on an' good to heyt an' not th' feaundations uv a church. Th' warlt's gerrin' ter'ble wickit. We's hev' to bi lukkin' eawt for another Noah's flood, I warrant.'