“Grandmother,” he said, “will you be godmother to my child?” And he explained to her how every one else had refused on account of his poverty and how in desperation he had decided to ask the first person he met. “And so, dear grandmother,” he concluded, “I am asking you.”
“Of course I’ll be godmother,” the old woman said. “Here, give me the dear wee thing!”
So Lukas gave her the child and together they went on to the chapel.
As they arrived the priest was just ready to leave. The sexton hurried up to him and whispered that a christening party was coming.
“Who is it?” he asked, impatiently.
“Oh, it’s only that good-for-nothing of a Lukas who is poorer than a church mouse.”
The godmother saw that the sexton was whispering something unfriendly, so she pulled out a shining ducat from her pocket, stepped up to the priest, and pressed it into his hand.
The priest blinked his eyes in amazement, looking first at the ducat and then at the shabby old woman who had given it. He stuffed the ducat into his pocket, whispered hurriedly to the sexton to bring him the font, and then christened the child of poor Lukas
