"A what?" Franz wrinkled puzzled brows.
With a sweeping circle of his right arm, Anton offered a near-perfect imitation of a dog walking around and around while the meat on a spit roasted. Franz warmed to this huge man. Anton's ice was all on the outside. Inwardly, he was gentle as the fawn of a chamois.
"Not yet," Franz said. "But I know we can teach him."
"Yah," said Anton. "We teach him."
Father Benjamin laughed. "You two seem to be getting along very well together, so I'll leave you alone."
Anton said respectfully, "As you will, Father," and turned to Franz. "Come."
Franz followed him into the stable, that was windowless, except for rectangles of wood hung on wooden hinges that now swung open to admit the sunlight. The place had a familiar smell the boy was unable to define until he remembered that the same odor dominated his mother's kitchen, and that it was the odor of complete cleanliness.
"Where are the cattle?" he asked.
Anton replied, "Down in the pasture."
"Down?"