were disporting themselves among the branches. The priest stood still, took off his hat, and looked up for a good while at the trees. The sight of them seemed to brighten his eyes and gladden his heart; even his skinny face relaxed into a careless smile.
“The dear, good trees!” he said to himself; “who would not find pleasure in looking at them? And thou St. John, standing here under the blossoms and the sparrows’ love-making, as I, with my empty pocket, in May, the honeymoon of the year! Oh, dear and blessed friend, intercede for me, so that when I come back from Ledecký I may be able to thank thee with a grateful look!”
Then he entered the yard, and passed, with a drooping head, under the windows of the house. The dog lying on the threshold stood up, stretched his legs, and giving a bark for a welcome, ran to meet him.
At the door leading from the kitchen to Father Ledecký’s sitting-room, the energetic profile of Miss Regina, the cook and housekeeper of Suchdol, appeared. Her nose bore a strong resemblance to the beak of a parrot just going to give a peck.
“There is Heavens! here again,” she informed her master snappishly. “Don’t lend him anything, I tell you.”
“Oh, never fear!” answered Ledecký, as serious as book.
“Oh yes, that’s just what you always say,” said Miss Regina, sharply, “but in the end you let yourself be twisted round like a cane.”
“Well, I’m not a beech of the forest; I’m a Christian man, I hope!” said the priest. Just at that moment there was a knock at the door,
