Page:The Best continental short stories of and the yearbook of the continental short story 1926.pdf/212

 Czecho-Slovakian household all guests must be honored, be it only with bread and salt. We could see these thoughts in her troubled gray eyes, usually so calm and aloof from worldly things. How could she show us honor? What could she say to us? These things worried her, but nevertheless her face lost none of the dignity which a half century of life had graven upon it.

Little Dacha gurgled to herself whilst we talked casually.

“What a pity that the pastor is out.”

“Yes, he is with the old farmer amongst the birch trees.”

“And you, Madame, do you not care for walking?”

“No, not any more. You see, I’m not as young as I used to be.”

The old lady seated herself carefully upon the edge of a chair; perhaps in her youth she had been able to sink back into it, but now she was far too stout and looked like a small pear placed on the edge. Her plump cheeks ran into a double chin which rested upon her bosom, and her figure broadened out to her large hips without any visible waistline. On her gray hair she wore a fichu of black lace.

She continued to look bewildered, and her eyes roved about in an embarrassed fashion; she seemed like some little climbing plant that needed a support. We were afraid of wearying her and thought of leaving.

“Please don’t go until the pastor returns,” murmured the old lady. “You really must wait for his return. He would be so sorry to have missed you.”

She offered to show us the little church in the meantime, and, throwing a woolen shawl about her shoulders, she took a large key from the sideboard, and we all walked slowly towards the church.

It was five hundred and fifty years old. Here and there the framework was falling to pieces. Over the altar was a picture of the Good Shepherd with a young lamb upon his shoulders. In the chancel was a small organ with carvings colored by some village craftsman. A portrait of Martin Luther was to the right of the altar, and to the left was an engraving representing Master John Huss. The old sacristy had a moldy smell.

The old lady showed us a stone proving the antiquity of the