“My story’s the right one,” replied Clamer, “and you won’t laugh me out of believing it.”
“Oh, dear no; the right story is much more serious than that! But I lose my patience with people who trouble themselves about those things.”
“I don’t believe there’s any more of the story,” continued Clamer, who was dying to hear it, and knew that the best way to get at it was by provoking her. Had he merely begged her to tell it, she would have found a perverse pleasure in disappointing him.
Giuseppa was very easily provoked. “The right story proves itself,” she cried, pettishly; and Clamer chuckled aside to see his plan succeed. “Your way of telling it only accounts for the snow; how do you account for the ice?”
“Oh, there’s no way of accounting for that,” replied Clamer, with a malicious laugh.
“Yes, there is,” rejoined Giuseppa, fairly caught. “It wasn’t an old man at all who came to give the warning. It was a very young man, for it was no one else but St. John.”
“St. John!” cried Clamer; “how could that be?”
“Don’t you know any thing, then?” retorted Giuseppa. “Don’t you know that there was a time when our Lord and His Apostles went walking over the earth, preaching the Gospel?”
“Yes, of course I know that,” replied Clamer, much offended.
“Well, then, in process of travelling they came here just the same as every where else—why shouldn’t they? The Apostles had been sent on to prepare a lodging for the night, and St. John, being the youngest and best walker, outstripped the rest, and came by first. But he was so soft and gentle in his warning that the labourers laughed at him, and he went on his way sighing, for he saw that their hearts were hardened.