road. As soon as he caught a glimpse of the hood among the hills, he hurried with his long strides across the graves into the tower; and while the men who had assembled in groups, talking outside the church door, slowly filed in and took their seats under the echoing arches, with much devout coughing and sniffing, the bells in the tower pealed out so lustily that all the walls shook.
But this was all a half-forgotten tale. Since Provst Tönnesen had come to the parish, the church had many a time stood empty even on Sundays; the rusty bells had pealed over deserted roads, and the only ones there to cough had been a few debtors for tithes, who dared not rouse the Provst's anger. And after all, it was by the Provst's directions that a stove had been placed in the church some few years ago, and the pews carpeted with thick rush matting.
But it was in the village of Skibberup that the revolutionary party were specially strong, and it was there also that Hansen, the notorious weaver, had his headquarters. The sight of the empty benches made Provst Tönnesen furious every Sunday. On one occasion he worked himself up into such a passion, and brought his hand down with such force on the pulpit, that St Peter, who, with the other apostles, was carved in wood on the sides of it, lost both nose and mouth from the shock. Since Pastor Hansted came to the parish, a change had taken place, and one Sunday
