“Belike, they can change a man into anything they may choose—into a beast even!”
“Ha! whosoever drinks overmuch does truly change himself into a swine!”
“But what of that farmer in Modlitsa, who barked and ran on all fours?”
“He was possessed of an evil spirit that his Reverence cast out of him.”
“Gracious Lord! can such things be? It makes my flesh creep to think of them.”
“Yea, for the Wicked One prowleth on every side as a wolf round the fold!”
Terror clutched at their hearts; they gathered closer together, while Vitek, all of a flutter with dread, faltered out:
“But this place too is haunted!”
Yagustynka was down upon him at once: “Don’t be a fool; don’t talk nonsense.”
“I do not. For I know that Something walks the stable at night, and shakes out the provender, while the horses neigh. … And then it passes out beyond the haystack; for Lapa follows it, first growling, then fawning and wagging its tail: and yet there is no one to be seen. … It must be Kuba’s ghost,” he added in a low voice, looking round him with dread.
“Kuba’s ghost!” echoed Yuzka, and crossed herself several times.
All were greatly impressed, and cold to the very backbone. The door opened, creaking: they all started and cried out. It was only Hanka standing on the threshold.
“Pete, where do the Tsiganes lie tonight?”
“They said in the forest, beyond Boryna’s cross.”
“This night ye must watch, lest they make off with aught of our things.”
“So near their camp, they would scarcely steal from us.”
“That’s as it may be. Two years since, they lay in that very place, and went off with a sow of Soha’s,” said Hanka, as a warning. At bedtime, she saw to it that the byre and stable were well locked; and, returning, she looked in at her father-in-law’s door.
“Yuzka! run and fetch Yagna: tell her to come at once: this night I’ll not leave the door unlocked for her!”
Yuzka was soon back. No lights were in Dominikova’s window, and almost all Lipka was asleep.
“The gadabout!—Well, I’ll not let her in. She may spend the night out of doors,” Hanka said, as she shot the bolts.
It must have been very late when, awaked by someone pushing at the door, and going to open it, she shrank back with disgust: it was Yagna, positively reeking of vodka. Her state was clear by her fumbling at the door-latch; and then she was heard stumbling over the furniture and falling like a log on to her bed.
“Had it been a fair-day, she could not have quaffed deeper!—Ah, well!”
The night was fated to bring trouble. Just before daybreak, such a lamentable cry thrilled through Lipka that all those who still were sleeping donned their clothes and ran out, thinking the village was on fire.
Balcerkova and her daughters were running about, with shrieks and screams. They had just found their horse stolen!
The whole population was instantly outside her cabin, where, in the utmost disorder of attire, and with many a sob and wailing ejaculation, they were telling how Mary had gone out before dawn to put provender in the rack … to find the door open and the stable empty!
“O Lord, have mercy!—Good people, help me, do something!” the old woman shrieked, clutching at her own hair, and dashing herself against the fence.
The Soltys came and sent for the Voyt, who arrived directly, but so drunk that he scarcely could stand. Utterly incapable, he only stammered unintelligibly, and ordered the people away, till at last the Soltys was obliged to remove him.
The calamity, however, was so grievous that few paid any attention to his state. Everyone was in consternation, going from the road to the stable and back again, talking one to another, hesitating as to what course to pursue, and completely dismayed. But suddenly someone shouted:
“This is the Tsiganes’ work!”
“So it is: they are still in the forest, and came round to us but yesterday.”
“Let us,” cried Gulbasova, “go to them quickly, take the horse back, and thrash them soundly!”
When the wild uproar that arose at her words broke out, it was just sunrise. They set to pulling stakes out of fences, and running about with clenched fists to excite each other, and were ready to set out, when a fresh development took place.
Up came the Soltys’ wife, all in tears, crying that their cart had been stolen from them!
The news was like a thunderbolt, and for a time they stood breathless, staring at each other with panic-stricken looks.
A horse and cart stolen together! such a thing had never been heard of.
“There’s a curse upon Lipka!”
“And it is heavier every week!”
“Of old, fewer mishaps took place in a year than now in one month.”
“What, oh, what will be the end of it all!” they whispered, stricken with awe.
They all immediately hastened to Balcerkova’s orchard, wherein the footprints of a horse were distinctly seen on the dewy grass and the damp earth; these they followed to the Soltys’ granary. It was there that the horse had been harnessed and driven round about the path near the miller’s, into the road that ran towards Vola.
Half the village followed the traces in that direction; but these at last disappeared near the burnt cornstacks in Podlesie so completely that no further clue could be found.
This robbery had dispirited them all so that, in spite of the magnificent weather, few were in a state to work. They went about dejectedly, wringing their hands, condoling with Balcerkova, and each of them most anxious for the safety of her own property.
As to the old dame, she stood beside the stable-door as by a catafalque, weeping bitterly, and pouring out by fits and starts words interspersed with sighs:
“O my chestnut horse, my only one, my beloved, you the best of all my servants!—Ah me! he was but in his tenth year; I had bred him from his foaling! Even as one of my own children he was. … Foaled the very year my Staho was born!—What shall we do
