The stranger gently stroked her sweet pretty face, kissed her fair head, and touching glasses with his host, emptied his own at one manly gulp.
"And right good it is, my little hostess! It has made quite a man of me."
The old man needed far more pressing. The little girl had to taste it first to put him in the humour for it. It was quite clear that this adopted father ran a great risk of being spoiled.
Peter Zudár's face was now quite bright and cheerful.
"Ah, sir!" said he to the stranger, "I have never felt before as I feel now. My heart feels as light as if no load had ever lain upon it. I feel myself a man. How long will you remain with me? I hope it will be for a long time."
"It cannot be, my worthy fellow, my vocation summons me elsewhere. By the way, hast thou any apprentices or assistants who require spiritual consolations?"
Peter Zudár's face grew dark at these words.
"I have only one 'prentice," said he at last, "and, sir, waste not any words of the Lord upon him—one must not cast bread before dogs."
"Hast thou no other?"
"Not long ago this 'prentice of mine brought a stranger to my house. Early next morning, before I could see him, he escaped through the loft and over the fence, why or whither I know not to this day. This was not the first case of the kind."