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 because old Vanek still lingered long in the chapel, doubtless, in order to tie again to the bell the rope, which owing to its rottenness so frequently snapped asunder.

And when Vanek issued from the chapel, and his huge rusty key again scraped in the door a cry arose as if from a single mouth, “Who is it for, prithee, who is it for?”

“The Lord grant him heaven—old Loyka”, answered the sexton, and drew the key out of the door. “Oh Lord! Lord! and is it really he?” repeated the neighbours in great astonishment.

At this moment approached the spot, with a basket in his hand, Vena, who acted as messenger in the parish, dwelt at Loyka’s house and, moreover, had the reputation of being a rascally impudent fellow. He also inquired, “Who is that for?”

“For your good old master, the pensioner”, answered the neighbours, sympathetically.

“For our—ho! ho! for our master, the pensioner—ho! ho!” sneered Vena, and burst out laughing. Although all held him for a fool, still it outraged their feelings when he laughed at such an occurrence.

“This is no laughing matter, Vena”, said they, reproachfully.

But something seemed to have tickled Vena’s fancy. “How, pray, isn’t it a laughing matter when it is? Sure enough, he sent me into the town early this morning, look you, with a basket, look you here; that I might bring punch and rosolek, look you here; they keep it at the brewer’s. He set me on the road as far as the gate, put some small change into my hands and said, ‘Buy there something for your own maw also, my Vena, that my flasks may not suffer by the way!’ and I am just coming from the town, I am bringing him punch and rosolek, look at it! And then he goes and dies, you say! Who is to drink it, pray? And then you say this is no laughing matter.” And again he laughed, until little by little his laughter infected the bystanders listening to it, who at last were fairly puzzled to know what it all meant, and turned inquiringly to the sexton.

The sexton, considering that Vena had dared to turn his official reputation into ridicule, strode up to the culprit as though he meant to take him by the collar. It was evident from the expression of his own eyes that he would most willingly have pulled Vena’s ears or his hair. When he stood about half a pace distant from the other, so that his nose touched Vena’s nose, and his two eyes glared into Vena’s two eyes, he exclaimed pretty sharply, “This is no time for drinking, I tell you. He for whom I have once