ou die."
Leading his little son with one hand, and carrying his tools in the
other, Valentine passed through the village. Washing and scouring was
going on everywhere, and chairs and tables stood before the houses,--for
every family expected visitors for the great occasion of the morrow.
As Valentine passed Christian the tailor's, he held his hand to his cap,
prepared to take it off if anybody should look out. But nobody did so:
the place was silent as a cloister. Some farmers' wives were going in,
carrying bowls covered with their aprons, while others passed out with
empty bowls under their arms. They nodded to each other without
speaking: they had brought wedding-presents for the young clergyman, who
was to be married to his bride--the Church.
As the vesper-bell rang, Valentine released the hand of his son, who
quickly folded his hands; Valentine also brought his hands together over
his heavy tools and said an Ave.
Next morning a clear, bright day rose upon the village. Ivo was dressed
by his mother betimes in a new jacket of striped Manchester cloth, with
buttons which he took for silver, and a newly-washed pair of leathern
breeches. He was to carry the crucifix. Gretchen, Ivo's eldest sister,
took him by the hand and led him into the street, "so as to have room in
the house." Having enjoined upon him by no means to go back, she
returned hastily. Wherever he came he found the men standing in knots in
the road. They were but half dressed for the festival, having no coats
on, but displaying their dazzling white shirt-sleeves. Here and there
women or girls were to be seen running from house to house without
bodices, and with their hair half untied. Ivo thought it cruel in his
sister to have pushed him out of the house as she had done. He would
have been delighted to have appeared like the grown folks,--first in
negligee, and then in full dress amid the tolling of bells and the clang
of trumpets; but he did not dare to return, or even to sit down
anywhere, for fear of spoiling his clothes. He went through the village
almost on tiptoe. Wagon after wagon rumbled in, bringing farmers and
farmers' wives from abroad; at the houses people welcomed them, and
brought chairs to assist them in getting down. All the world looked as
exultingly quiet and glad as a community preparing to receive a hero who
had gone forth from their midst and was returning after a victory. From
the church to the hill-top the road was strewn with
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