“Your boot knows as much about it as you do! But Hanka says no one in all the village is clad so well,” she said, stamping and pulling down her short skirt. “Your red knees can be seen through the skirt, as the flesh of a goose through the feathers!” “Silly lad!—But,” she added, in a warning whisper, “hide your stork away! The priest will come with the procession, and might see and know it again.” “Oh, but how fine the mistress looks! For all the world like a turkey-cock!” he murmured in ecstasy, gazing after them down the road; and then, mindful of Yuzka’s warning, he shut the stork up in the potato-pit, and let out Lapa to watch before the altar: after which he betook himself to Matthias, lying as usual in the orchard. The village was deserted. In the church, the service had commenced. The priest came out for Mass, the organ pealed; and, the sermon ended, all the bells were set ringing till they frightened the doves off the roofs. Then the people poured out, streaming through the great door, with banners dipping forward, tapers flaming, holy pictures borne by white-clad maidens, and, at last, the red canopy over the priest, who bore the golden Monstrance. They formed in procession, with a long lane, edged with flickering lights, cut through the dense throng; and his Reverence intoned: “Lo, at Thy gate I stand, O Lord!” to which all the multitude answered, thundering in unison—one great Heaven-reaching voice!— “My soul hath waited on Thy word.” Singing, they moved forward, with a great crush about the narrow lich-gate; for the concourse was immense, consisting of the whole parish. All the folk of all the Manors were present: several Squires supported the priest on either side, or walked close by, taper in hand. The canopy was borne aloft by husbandmen of the parish: only (perhaps on account of the recent disgrace) none of them men of Lipka. From the churchyard shadows to the open space beyond, white, dazzling, broiling hot, where the burning sun made the eyes to blink with its living fires, on they walked to the sound of the whole tolling belfry. The chants rose up, the incense-smoke soared forth along with clouds of dust; lights scintillated, and bright showers of flowery petals fell continually, scattered at the feet of his Reverence. The crowd surged along, heavy-footed, chanting mightily, like to a noisy many-coloured stream; and in its midst—a boat in the rapid current, as it were—floated the crimson canopy. And the holy banners waved and tossed beside the pictures and statues of saints, veiled in gauze and gay with flowers.