After the service came the inspection and the vestry meeting. The bishop asked if the congregation had any complaints to make against their clergyman.
The minister was no longer angry and defiant as before the sermon. Now he was ashamed and hung his head. Oh, all the miserable brandy stories, which were coming now!
But none came. There was a deep silence about the long table in the parish-hall.
The minister looked first at the sexton,—no, he was silent; then at the churchwardens, then at the powerful peasants and mine-owners; they were all silent. They sat with their lips pressed close together and looked embarrassed down on the table.
“They are waiting for somebody to begin,” thought the minister.
One of the churchwardens cleared his throat.
“I think we’ve got a fine minister,” he said.
“Your Reverence has heard how he preaches,” interrupted the sexton.
The bishop spoke of repeated absences.
“The minister has the right to be ill, as well as another,” was the peasants’ opinion.