The abbot and old Dan appear. The abbot says in a loud, deep voice:

"Here I am. Here I am bringing you a prayer, children. I have just
composed it; it has even made me feel hot. Dan, why doesn't the boy
ring the bell? Oh, yes, he is ringing. The fool--he isn't swinging
the right rope, but that doesn't matter; that's good enough, too.
Isn't it, Mariet?"

Two thin but merry bells are ringing.

Mariet is silent and Haggart answers for her:

"That's good enough. But what are the bells saying, abbot?"

The fishermen who have gathered about them are already prepared to
laugh--the same undying jest is always repeated.

"Will you tell no one about it?" says the abbot, in a deep voice,
slily winking his eye. "Pope's a rogue! Pope's a rogue!"

The fishermen laugh merrily.

"This man," roars the abbot, pointing at Haggart, "is my favourite
man! He has given me a grandson, and I wrote the Pope about it in
Latin. But that wasn't so hard; isn't that true, Mariet? But he
knows how to look at the water. He foretells a storm as if he
himself caused it. Gart, do you produce the storm yourself? Where
does the wind come from? You are the wind yourself."

All laugh approval. An old fisherman says: