In the mean time, one of the reapers, who had drank less wine than the others, woke up sober, and as soon as he found he could stand on his legs, he ran post haste to the village to relate the wonderful tale. The place being small and the gossips many, it was not half an hour before the whole population knew the extraordinary occurrence that had taken place. Even the curé, the magistrate, and the doctor rushed into the street to hear the news, and a pretty uproar there was. "Said I not truly that Wise Peter was in league with the Evil One?" exclaimed one, "for only thus can the miracle of a spring of wine be accounted for." "True, true!" cried the listeners; "a wizard he must be; and that of a right dangerous sort!"
Just at this moment, the wagon of Wise Peter was seen coming along the road. The impatient villagers could not wait for him to approach them, but rushed toward the wagon and surrounded it on every side. "How now, wretched wizard!" they one and all shouted; "dare you look us in the face when we have found you out in your sorceries? Away with you to prison!" and, so saying, they laid hold of Wise Peter, dragged him out of the wagon, and bore him toward the magistrate. In vain the wretched man begged for some explanation, declared a hundred times over that he was no wizard, but an honest peasant; they only shouted, tauntingly, "A pretty story for a man who turns his well springs into the finest wine! no wizard, indeed! say, rather, a wizard of the worst kind!"
With these words, they hauled him before the magistrate, where, again, the reaper repeated his story, adding, by way of proof, "If you don't believe me, go and see the other reapers; there they lie drunk, where I left them."
"You hear what this honest man says," said the magistrate. "We have long suspected you of sorcery, but this proves the matter at once. Either you must forfeit a hundred guilders, as ordained by law in such cases, or you must go to prison."
Almost distracted, Wise Peter exclaimed, "You have seen fit, worthy magistrate, to accuse me of a crime of which, so far from being guilty, I know nothing whatever. When I left home this morning, I swear the water was as fresh and pure as possible. I know that some envious people had long accused me of practising black arts, and if Industry and Prudence are black arts, I am certainly guilty; but in this matter of the water, I am as innocent as my own wife!"