They wondered much at the legend told them; but presently Boryna and the smith began to talk of other matters.
After a time, too, Yagustynka, who had all the time sat silent, spoke out, and with no pleasant words.
“Oh, ye talk, ye talk, ye talk: and wherefore, but only to make time pass? Were it true that of old there came from heaven those who protected the wretched and saved them from the oppressor: then why do they not come now too? Is there now less of poverty, less of misery, less of torture and of pain? Man is like a poor bird, unarmed, and let loose to fly about the world. The hawk, the beasts of prey, and want of food slay it; and him Crossbones always takes in the end.—And ye prate of mercy, and feed fools with promises, deluding them and saying that salvation is at hand!—Ah, who is at hand?—Antichrist! and he will deal out justice, and He will have mercy, even as the hawk has mercy on the chickens!”
Roch started up. “Woman!” he cried in a thundering voice; “do not blaspheme! do not hearken sinfully to the whispers of the Wicked One, that will drag you down to your damnation and to everlasting fire!”—But he fell back upon the bench, and could speak no more for the sobs that choked his voice, and shuddered from head to foot with horror and with sorrow for that lost soul. And when somewhat calmer, he set the truth before her with all the power of a firm believer, striving to bring her back into the right way.
He spoke to her long—very long; and as well as a priest in the pulpit.
Meanwhile Vitek, having been greatly struck to hear that cattle possessed human speech on Christmas Eve, called Yuzka away quietly, and they went both of them to the cow-house.
Holding each other by the hands, trembling with awe, and crossing themselves more than once, they slipped in amongst the cows.
Down they knelt by the side of the largest one, that they looked on as the Mother of the Byre. Out of breath, agitated, with tears in their eyes and dread in their hearts, as if they were in church and during the Elevation—they nevertheless were upheld by strong trust and a lively faith. Vitek put his mouth to her ear, and quavered in a low voice:
“Hist! Grey One! Grey One!”
But she only gurgled inaudibly, and went on chewing with a roll of her tongue and a smack of her lips.
“Something strange has come upon her: she answers naught!”
Then they knelt by the next cow, and Vitek, who by this time was on the verge of weeping, called earnestly to her:
“Spotted One! Spotted One!”
They both approached very close to her mouth, and listened, holding their breath; but never, never a word!
“Ah! no doubt we have sinned, so we shall not hear her speak. They answer only such as are sinless; and we are sinners!”
“True, Yuzka, true! we are sinful, we have sinned. O Lord! so it is! Aye, I stole some bits of string from master once. And an old strap besides. … Yes, and also. …” He could go no farther; remorse and repentance for his faults shook the lad with a convulsion of tears and sobs; and Yuzka, following his example, wept from the bottom of her heart. They cried together, and would not be comforted till they had laid bare before each other all their “manifold sins and offences.”
At home, no one remarked their absence, for all were piously singing hymns—not Christmas carols, which it was not deemed proper to strike up until after midnight.
On the other side of the house, Pete was having a wash and making a grand toilet. He had completely changed his clothes, Yagna having brought him another suit of his, that he had put by in the storeroom.
But what a cry arose when he appeared before them, clad—no longer in his military cloak and grey uniform—but in the usual garb of a peasant!
“They laughed at me and nicknamed me Grey Dog,” he faltered; “so I have changed my clothes.”
“Change your speech, and not your garments!” Yagustynka snarled.
“That likewise he will get back, since his soul has remained Polish.”
“And what marvel if he should forget something, after five years far away, never once hearing his mother-tongue spoken?”
Here they broke off their talk; the high-pitched tinkle of the mass-bell was now heard in the chamber.
“We must be off: it is ringing for the shepherd’s mass!”
And in a very short time all had set out, save Yagustynka. She stayed to watch the house, and still more to loose the reins in solitude to the bitterness of her heart.
The mass-bell meantime rang, rang, rang, like the quick twitter of a bird, calling them to church.
Out of their cabins they poured; now and then a ruddy refulgence shone from the opening and closing doors, with a flash as of lightning. In some huts, the fire was put out or covered. In the dark night, as they hurried on, a voice would be heard, or a cough, and the crunching of shoes on the snow, and the holy words of mutual greeting: and on they went, deeper and deeper into the dark-grey blackness, till only their footsteps sounded in the frozen air.
From afar they now began to perceive the glowing church-windows, and the great door thrown open and pouring forth light, and the people surging in—billows on billows, slowly filling the aisle, decorated with Christmas trees of many a kind; crowded along the white walls, swarming in front of the altar, filling the pews in an ever-rising flood, rolling and undulating to and fro with the incoming human tide, which brought in along with it a fog
