ay, though it
was a lovely afternoon, and not a cloud was to be seen on the horizon,
the young priest opened his umbrella, and followed the coffin to the
grave.

Four strong men carried the bier on which the coffin was placed, and as
chance willed it, when they passed the smithy, one of the bearers
stumbled and fell, which so startled the one walking behind him, that he
lost his presence of mind, the bier lurched to one side, and the coffin
fell to the ground.

It cracked, then the fastenings gave way, and it broke to pieces; first
the embroidered shirt was visible, and then the supposed dead man
himself, who awoke from the trance he had been in, moved slightly, and
whispered:

"Where am I?"

Of course every one was as surprised as they could be, and there was
plenty of running backward and forward to the smithy for blankets,
shawls, and pillows, of which they made a bed in a cart that was outside
waiting to be repaired. Into this they put the man on whom such a
miracle had been worked, and the funeral procession returned as a
triumphant one to Sranko's house. He had so far recovered on the way
home as to ask for something to eat immediately on his arrival.

They brought him a jug of milk, at which he shook his head. Lajko
offered him a flask of brandy he had taken with him to cheer his
drooping spirits. He smiled and accepted it.

This ridiculous incident was the beginning of the umbrella legend, which
spread and spread beyond the village, beyond the mountains, increasing
in detail as it went. If a mark or impression were found on a rock it
was said to be the print of St. Peter's foot. If a flower of
particularly lovely color were found growing on the meadow, St. Peter's
stick had touched the spot. Everything went to prove that St. Peter had
been in Glogova lately. After all it was no common case.

The only real mystery in the whole affair was how the umbrella had come
to be spread over little Veronica's basket; but that was enough to make
the umbrella noted. And its fame spread far and wide, as far as the
Bjela Voda flows; the Slovak peasants told the tale sitting round the
fire, with various additions, according to the liveliness of their
imagination. They imagined St. Peter opening the gates of Heaven, and
coming out with the umbrella in his hand, in order to bring it down to
the priest's little sister. The only question they could not settle was
how St. Peter had got down to the earth. But they thought he