“It passed well enough, but I might have passed with it without your holy water.  Look here, at the night’s wages.”

“Dear Lord.  Who gave you so much money?”

The schoolteacher told the priest of all that had happened.

“That miller must have been a great sinner,” said the priest when he heard the story.  “You saved him.  Now there’s one last thing you must do.  Make a fire and burn the skin right here by his grave.  The ashes, you have to sprinkle between eleven and twelve at the most crowded spot in the parish.  But what are you going to do with all this money?  You know, if I hadn’t been inspired by God to give you such good advice, you might not be here to tell the tale.  I think it’s only fair that we divide it.  Let me have the silver pieces, give the gold to the church, and keep the ducats for yourself.”

“I know you gave me good advice, father, but it was I who kept guard.  You can have the bag of silver, but a single piece of gold will be enough for the church.”  That’s how he divided it, and the priest was satisfied.  The schoolteacher’s wife almost lost her mind when she saw all the money her husband brought home.

The schoolteacher followed the priest’s directions.  He burned the skin as instructed and then looked for the busiest spot that day.  Because it was Sunday, it was the road leading to church.   He stood on the front steps of the church, and sprinkled the ashes before him.  As he did so the ashes turned into a white dove, which circled him three times and flew into the clouds.

He said five Our Fathers and five Hail Marys and went to the mill where he told the miller’s wife about all that had happened, though of the money not a word.  He offered to buy the mill from her, and after they’d agreed on a goodly sum, it was sold.

The schoolteacher stopped teaching and took care of the farmers’ grain rather than their children.