“I have just told him that the wagon was overloaded,” remarked another peasant, in a tone of reproach.
“Perhaps—but Prantner knows that his horses are very strong, and he therefore has great confidence in them,” said the pastor. “They are splendid creatures,” patting the broad necks of the horses, and stroking their manes. The horses commenced to snort, to toss their heads, and to paw the ground. “Ah! see, they like to be complimented,” he continued cheerfully. “Let us always acknowledge merit, and that which seems difficult will then become easy. Now, Prantner, go on!”
The priest had hardly stepped back, when the horses proceeded on their way without further urging.
“Was there ever any one like our pastor?” exclaimed the peasants, in astonishment. “He understands everything.”
“Where is he going, so late?”
“To Michael the carpenter, who is dying, and who refuses to be reconciled with his neighbor.”
“Michael has always been very stubborn; may Almighty God grant him a happy death!” Saying which, the men dispersed.
The count, who had watched the proceedings, also went his way.
“The leading spirit of this parish is evidently the Jesuit, and he deserves to be,” thought Von Scharfenstein.
The Angelus now rang; at once every head was uncovered; for the silvery tones of the bell reminded the villagers of the incarnation of the Son of God. From all the houses resounded the angelic salutation, sometimes uttered by the clear voices of the children.