The coat is of a cut at least ten years out of date, and the elbows and seams tell of faithful service. Neither can Father Cvok boast of corpulence; his Orleans waistcoat is evidently too loose for him in the front; and the only bit of luxury to be seen upon him is a watch, attached to a hair chain, which is fastened in the middle with a gold heart. What can it be that weighs so heavily on his mind?
I’ll whisper it into your ear. The poor man has not a farthing left in his pocket, and no provisions in his house! His wood is all burnt, not one fowl more in his yard, and the ancient maid, Naninka, his old housekeeper, has used up the last grain of flour for to-day’s dinner. He is on his way to Suchdol to borrow five florins from his reverend brother, Father Ledecký, as there is no prospect of any speedy christening or funeral to help him out of his difficulty; and, to add to his distress, he already owes Father Ledecký ten florins, which he borrowed from him at the beginning of Advent, and has never been able to pay back since.
The venerable shepherd of the sheepfold of Záluz̓í heaved a heavy sigh under his rowan tree, scratched his left arm above the elbow, turned his eyes once more to the left towards Záluzí, then to the right in the direction of Suchdol. He was evidently undecided whether to return home or to venture to Suchdol. At last he wiped the sweat from his wrinkled brow with a blue cotton handkerchief, and came to a decision. Right foot foremost, he stepped out towards Suchdol.
To the left of the gate leading up to the house there stands, between two wild chestnut trees, the statue of St. John of Nepomuk. The stately old trees were covered with blossoms, and a whole flock of sparrows
