And this inestimable benefit he, poor Friar Peter,
had come from his brotherhood of St. Francis at Offingen solely to
dispense to the poor mountaineers.
It was disappointing to find this profane mummery going on instead of
the holy services to which Christina had looked forward for strength
and comfort; she was far too well instructed not to be scandalized at
the profane deception which was ripening fast for Luther, only thirty
years later; and, when the stone was held up by the friar in one
hand, the printed briefs of indulgence in the other, she shrunk back.
Her father however said, "Wilt have one, child? Five hundred years
is no bad bargain."
"My uncle has small trust in indulgences," she whispered.
"All lies, of course," quoth Hugh; "yet they've the Pope's seal, and
I have more than half a mind to get one. Five hundred years is no
joke, and I am sure of purgatory, since I bought this medal at the
Holy House of Loretto."
And he went forward, and invested six groschen in one of the papers,
the most religious action poor Christina had ever seen him perform.
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