FullReads

The new parson, who chanced to be coming down the little hill at the town-house, had stopped to see the whole transaction. When the boy was on the point of being pummelled for his indignant dunning, the parson stepped up quickly and took the boy away. The farmers all arose in great haste and pulled off their caps. The parson walked on, taking with him the image-keeper, who happened to be among the crowd. From him he heard the story of the feud between the brothers.

Next Saturday, as Conrad was breaking stones in the village, he was summoned to meet the parson next morning after church. He looked astonished: his pipe went out, and for two seconds the stone under his plank-soled foot remained unbroken. He was at a loss to think what could have happened at the parsonage, and would rather have gone there at once.

Mike received the same invitation as he was “greasing his old nag’s Sunday boots,”–as he termed getting up his hoof’s for market. He whistled a naughty tune, but stopped in the middle of it, for he well knew what was coming. He was glad of the chance to prepare himself for a good counter-sermon, a few sentences of which he already mumbled between his teeth.

On Sunday morning the parson took for his text, “Behold, how good and how pleasant it is for brethren to dwell together in unity!” (Psalm cxxxii. 1.) He showed that all the happiness and joy of earth is void and vapid if not shared between those who have slept in the same mother’s womb; he said that parents can neither be happy here nor at peace hereafter if their children are sundered by hatred, envy, or malice; he referred to Cain and Abel, and spoke of fratricide as the first venomous fruit of the fall. All this was uttered in a full, resounding voice, of which the farmers said, “It pries the walls apart.” Alas! it is often almost easier to move stone walls than to soften the hard heart of man. Barbara wept bitter tears over the evil ways of her brothers; and, although the parson declared again and again that he did not allude to any one in particular, but desired one and all to lay their hands on their hearts and ask themselves whether the true love for their kindred was in them, yet every one was content to think, “That’s for Mike and Conrad: the shoe fits them exactly.”

The two latter stood near each other, Mike chewing his cap, which he held between his teeth, and Conrad listening with open mouth. Once their eyes met, and then Mike dropped his cap and stooped down quickly to pick it up.

The hymn at the close had a calm, pacifying influence; but, before the last sounds had died away, Mike was out of the church, and knocked at the door of the parsonage. Finding it locked, he went into the garden. He stood before the beehives, and watched their restless labor.

“They never know when Sunday comes.”

And he thought, “I have no Sunday either, with my traffic; but then I have no real working-day.” Again he thought how many hundred brothers lived together in a beehive, all working like the old folks. He did not dwell upon such reflections, however. He made up his mind that the parson should not bridle him; and when he looked at the graveyard he remembered the last words of Conrad, and his hand clenched.

In the parsonage he found the parson and Conrad in earnest conversation. The parson appeared to have given up the expectation of his coming. He offered him a chair; but Michael answered, pointing to his brother,–

“No offence to your reverence, but I never sit down where he is. Your reverence hasn’t been long in the village yet, and don’t know his tricks. He is a hypocritical doughface, but false and underhanded. All the children imitate him,” he continued, gnashing his teeth: “‘How’s Mike coming on?'” and here he gave the well-known pantomime again. “Your reverence,” he went on, trembling with rage, “he is the cause of all my mishap: he has ruined my peace at home, and so I have sold myself to the devil for horses. You’ve prophesied it, you bloodhound!” he roared at his brother: “I’ll hang myself with a halter yet, but your turn shall come first.”