Her complaints were all the more sincere and hearty, because just then, no men being on her farm, it was as bad to lose both her hands (she said) as lose her horse.
Of course her neighbours surrounded her with quaint attempts at consolation, and general praises of her horse’s good points.
“A first-rate beast, still in its prime, and gentle as a child!”
“It kicked my boy, neighbour; but all the same, ’twas a splendid animal.”
“And though it had a spavin on one leg, it was worth forty roubles any day.”
“As playful as a kitten, it was! How it used to pull down the bedding from the fences!”
“We shall not look upon its like soon,” they all agreed, speaking as of a dead Christian!—And whenever Balcerkova cast a glance at the manger, her sorrow welled forth afresh, and the empty stable, like a freshly-dug grave, evoked the remembrance of her loss, and the cruel injury done to her; and she was only soothed a little when she learned that the Soltys had taken Pete from Boryna’s, Valek from the priest’s, and, together with the miller’s man, had started off after the Tsiganes.
“Ye may as well pursue the wind in the plain. ‘They that steal, can conceal,’ ” said one.
And indeed they returned very late, announcing that every trace of them had disappeared like a stone in the water.
The Voyt showed himself at last, and, dark though it was, took the Soltys with him to report to the police; while Balcerkova and Mary went to explore the neighbouring hamlets.
They came back with no news, save that thefts had been numerous in other villages as well. So thus there now came another weighty affliction to torment the people: anxiety for the safety of their possessions. The Voyt therefore organized a “Vigilance Band”; and, for lack of young men, told out two girls nightly to make the round of the village and watch, together with all the bigger boys: besides which, the lasses were to sleep in the byres and stables.
All this was of no avail. The very first night, certain thieves went to Filipka’s hut (over the water), and made off with her sow, just about to farrow!
The woman’s grief could not have been more violent if her own child had been stolen. For this was all she depended on to pull through till harvest-time; and her howls of despair, as she banged her head against the walls, were frightful to hear. She went with her tale of woe to his Reverence, who gave her a rouble, kindly promising her a young pig of the farrow he himself expected at harvest-time.
They were at their wit’s end how to put a stop to these robberies: everyone was filled with dreary forebodings, and went about in fear of what the coming night might bring forth.
Luckily Roch appeared in the evening with news simply too good for belief. On Thursday—the day after next—a whole troop of neighbours was coming round to help Lipka in tilling the lands!
No, they could not believe it; but when his Reverence came to confirm the news solemnly, at last their joy burst forth. The same day, when it had ceased from raining, and the steaming pools glowed scarlet in the sundown, all the roads swarmed with people. The huts seethed with the excitement of it; neighbours ran out to talk the news over with neighbours, and wonder; the robberies were quite forgotten, and the unexpected assistance rejoiced them so much that but few troubled to watch that night.
Early the next day, preparations were made to receive their visitors: the huts were cleaned, loaves baked, carts made ready, potatoes cut up for planting; and the manure that lay in heaps on the fields was scattered about over them. In every cabin, too, much trouble was taken to get food and drink for these unforeseen guests; for it was well understood that they must be treated well, and as behoved farmers. Many a fowl and goose which they had meant to sell was now put in the pot; many a loan, too, was taken from the innkeeper and the miller. In short, Lipka was, as it were, on the eve of some great festival.
No one was more enraptured and transported than Roch himself. The whole day he trudged about, hastening the preparations where needful, and so bright and chatty that, when he came round to the Borynas’, Hanka, who was unwell and had taken to bed again, could not help remarking:
“Your eyes gleam as if ye were sick with a fever!”
“ ’Tis with joy they gleam! for I never yet felt so happy. Oh, think of it: so many peasants coming over to Lipka for two whole days to do all the most urgent work! How can I help rejoicing?”
“But I cannot make out how this aid is to be—gratis, paid only with a ‘God reward you!’ ”
“Aye, for those three words they will come to our help, like true Poles and true Christians. Aye, this has never yet been seen, and therefore has evil flourished in the country. … Things will grow better still: ye shall see!—Our folk will gain understanding, and know that we should look only to ourselves; that none will assist us, unless we ourselves do so, each helping the other in time of need.—Ye shall see: the time will come!” he cried, radiant, stretching forth his arms as though to embrace the whole people and unite it in the strong bonds of love.
But when they asked him who had worked the miracle, he slipped away and wandered amongst the huts, where the girls were getting ready the morrow’s dresses—almost holiday attire—in the hope that some unmarried man might be coming over.
The first rays of morning had but just shone upon the roofs, when the whole place was in readiness: chimneys sent up their smoke, girls darted from hut to hut, and little boys climbed up to the ridgepole to look out along the roads. All was in solemn silence. The
