“Sophie, Gregory’s daughter, might do; a slim handsome girl and a good dowry, too.”
“What does Matthias, the richest farmer here, want with a dowry?”
“ ‘Of goods and lands and such, who ever has too much?’ ” queried the blind man.
“No,” the Voyt decided, “Gregory’s girl is not for him—too young, too immature.”
“Then Andrew’s daughter, Catharine,” was the next proposal made by the Voyt’s wife.
“Already taken. Roch’s son, Adam, sent proposers to her yesterday.”
“Well, there is Veronka, Stach’s daughter.”
“A babbler, a gadabout, and with one hip deformed.”
“But what about Thomas’s widow? She would do very well, I fancy.”
“Three children, four acres, two heads of cattle, and an old sheepskin that poor Tom left her.”
“Perhaps Ulisia, Adalbert’s daughter, who lives by the church?”
“She might do for a single young man. The boy she has is now big enough to tend cattle. But Matthias has his own cowherd, and needs none.”
“There are others yet to be married; only I seek someone suitable.”
“But, wife, you have overlooked one who would be just the girl for him.”
“Who is that?”
“Why, Yagna, daughter of Dominik.”
“To be sure; she had escaped my memory.”
“A bouncing wench and tall; no fence but would break under her weight.”
“Yagna!” repeated Boryna, who had been silently listening to this roll-call; “but they say she runs after men.”
“Who has seen her? who knows? Gossips will gossip for gossiping’s sake and for envy,” cried the Voyt’s wife, hot in her defence.
“Oh, I did not say she was that way, but it’s common talk. Well, now, I must be off.” He adjusted his girdle, put a live coal to his pipe, and pulled at it twice or three times.
“And for what hour is the summons?”
“For nine o’clock; so it stands in black and white in the District Court. You will have to rise early, if you are going there on foot.”
“I shall take the filly and drive slowly. God be with you, and thanks for your good cheer and neighbourly advice.”
“May God go with you, too. And think over what we have been telling you. Say but the word, and I will go to the old dame with vodka for you; and we shall have a wedding before Yuletide is out.”
Boryna answered not a word, but gave them a parting glance that might mean anything.
“When old with young to wedlock fly, the devil is glad, for he profits thereby,” was the blind beggar’s reflection as he finished the mashed potatoes. Boryna walked homeward with slow steps, seriously meditating on the advice given him. At the Voyt’s he had carefully kept from letting it be known by any sign whatever that the idea was extremely to his liking. How could he? He was not a young whippersnapper, who would at the bare mention of marriage be ready to dance and shout for joy, but a grave, elderly farmer.
Night had already enshrouded the earth. The stars glistened in the sky’s sombre depths like silver dewdrops, and all was still, save for an occasional bark of a dog or two. Faintly and far between, a few lights twinkled athwart the orchard trees, and now and then a breath of damp air blew up from the meadows, making the boughs wave slightly and their leaves whisper soft sounds.
Boryna was making for home by another way—direct and leading down over the bridge, under which the waters of the pond, rolling towards the mill, with a hollow bubbling sound, poured into the stream. He then crossed to the other side, skirting the pond, where the waters shone darkly and the trees along its shores cast gloomy shadows over its surface, framing it in ebony; though near the centre, where the shadows were lighter, the twinkling stars were reflected as in a mirror of steel.
Matthias himself could not have said why he did not now go straight home, instead of choosing a roundabout way. Did he want to pass in front of Yagna’s house? Possibly he meant only to collect his thoughts and revolve matters within his head.
“Really, it would not be a bad thing. And what they say of her is all very true. Yes, she is a strapping girl!”
A shiver ran through him. It was damp and cold near and about the pond and he came straight from the Voyt’s cosy fireside.
“Without a woman at home, I must either be ruined or make over the farm to my children,” he thought, and then: “And she’s a lusty wench, and as pretty as a picture. My best cow gone today! and who knows what else will go tomorrow? Perhaps I ought to look out for a second wife; my first one has left things to wear a plenty. But Dominik’s old widow … she is a wicked creature!—Three of them, and fifteen acres: about five for Yagna, besides her share of the cabin and the livestock. Five acres of fields—the very ones beyond my own potato-patch. Together with mine, they will make close to thirty-five acres. A nice bit of land!”
He rubbed his hands and set his girdle straight. “The miller would be the only man richer than I. Next year, I would manure and till the whole of my lands for wheat. I would have to purchase another horse. And a cow too, in place of poor Red-and-White.—Oh, but then she would bring a cow of her own. …”
So he went on musing, calculating, and dreaming farmers’ dreams, till the weight of his thoughts became, he felt, too big for his mind. For he was marshalling every detail, like the intelligent peasant that he was, and considering whether he had not possibly overlooked anything of importance.
“They would raise a hue over it, the rascals!” he said to himself, thinking of his children. But at the thought there rushed over him a wave of indomitable self-confidence, which immediately filled his soul and confirmed him in his purpose, wavering and undecided as he had been hitherto.
“The land is my own. Let anyone else dare claim my property! If they don’t like
