“Quite so, quite so,” they replied, with their eyes upon the dish.
“Have ye been at Boryna’s yet?” he inquired, anxiously.
“I have long been about to go; but something always prevented me.”
“He suffers for us all, and we—we forget him!”
“And you—have you looked in there?”
“I?—Should I go in by myself, folk would say I was after Yagna!”
“As particular as a girl after she has tripped!” muttered old Agata, who sat by the hedge, with a small bowl on her knees.
“Well, but I have enough of all this yelping.”
Klemba laughed. “The wolf,” he said, “changes his life when his teeth are gone.”
“Or,” Matthew added, “when he thinks of settling down.”
“Ho, ho! we shall soon have you sending messengers to some lass?” young Klemba cried in high glee.
“Aye, I am weighing the matter seriously.”
“Make your choice quickly, Matthew, and ask me to be your bridesmaid!” piped Kate, the eldest daughter.
“Ah, but there’s the rub. All are equally excellent, and everyone’s better than the other. Magda’s the richest, but she’s toothless and blear-eyed; Ulisia’s a flower, but has one hip too big, and no dowry but a barrel of sauerkraut; Franka has a baby; Mary is too friendly to all the boys; Eva has a hundred zloty, all in coppers; but she’s a sluggard, always lying abed. All would fain eat fat things, drink sweet things, and do nothing. Oh, they are pure gold, these girls! And others there are besides, nice, but not yet grown up.”
They all laughed till the pigeons flew off the roof.
“I say true. Till she is grown up, I care naught for a girl, be she ever so comely.”
Here Dame Klemba rebuked him for talking of such things.
“Oh, I am only joking. And girls like these jokes, they say, as well as any.”
At this the lasses were offended, and grew red as turkeys in angry protest.
“A fine fellow he is: not one of us is good enough for him!”
“If there are none in Lipka you can like, then take one from elsewhere!” they cried.
“But there are, there are! ’Tis easier to find an old maid here than a silver zloty. Ah, how many there are! They every Saturday beautify themselves at daybreak very thoroughly, and braid their hair, and chase chickens through the orchard to barter with the Jew for vodka, and are all the afternoon on the watch for messengers bringing a proposal. Why, have I not seen them on the roofs, waving their kerchiefs at me, and shouting: ‘Come to me, Matthew, come!’?—And the mothers, too, taking up the cry: ‘To Kate first, Matthew, to Kate! I’ll add to her portion—a cheese and eight eggs: Matthew, come to Kate!’ ”
The men were near splitting their sides with laughter, he amused them so; but the girls, indignant, made such an uproar that old Klemba interposed:
“Hush, girls! ye’re as noisy as magpies before rain.”
The din went on nevertheless. So, to end the squabble, he inquired:
“Were you present, Matthew, at the Voyt’s affray?”
“Not I. But the Koziols were very soundly swinged, they say.”
“Aye, swinged with a vengeance! They were awful to behold.—Well, well, the Voyt has had his fling, i’ faith.”
“He has waxed fat on the Commune’s bread, and now he plays pranks!”
“Aye, indeed, he fears none. Who would stand up to him? Any other should pay dear for such sport—he’ll not lose a hair thereby. He knows men in office, and can do as he pleases here.”
“Because ye are but sheep to let him. He puts you down, and sets himself above you all!”
“Having chosen him ourselves, we must respect his rule.”
“But they that set him up can put him down again.”
“Hush, Matthew, not so loud: folk may hear your words.”
“—And tell him. Then he’ll know what I have said.—Let him fall foul of me, though, if he dare!”
“Matthias, who alone could have held against him, is at death’s door. No one else would put himself forward: each has troubles enough of his own,” the old man concluded, rising from his seat.
All rose with him, and went, some to rest awhile, some to stretch their legs and loosen their girdles; others—the lasses—to wash the dishes in the pond, and take a little recreation. But Matthew went directly to set up props and stays for the cabin, while Klemba lit his pipe and sat on the doorstep.
As he puffed, his mind reverted to the late talk. “Who stands up for others, shall have many bothers!” he growled.
The sun was high above the cabin, the afternoon hot. The orchards stood motionless, the sunlight trembled through their rustling leaves, and many a petal floated down upon the grass. Bees buzzed among the apple-tree boughs; athwart the greenery, the millpond shimmered, and the birds were all hushed. A pleasant afternoon drowsiness pervaded the place.
Klemba, who wanted to keep awake, sauntered over to his potato-pit.
A little later he returned, puffing hard at his extinguished pipe, and spluttering, and throwing back the long hair that had fallen over his brow.
“Have you seen?” his wife asked him, peeping out at the door.
“I have. Our potatoes will only last us till harvest, if we cook them but once a day!”
“Once a day only!”
“What’s to be done? We are so many!—Ten hungry mouths, the ravenous maws beneath them!—We must think of something.”
“Not of the heifer, at any rate. I tell you, I will not have her sold. Do what ye will, the cattle must not go!”
He waved his hands, as if to drive away an importunate wasp; when she had gone, he lit his pipe again.
“A pigheaded old thing! … If needs must. … A heifer’s no holy thing to die for!”
The sun now shone in his eyes; he only turned his back, and puffed more slowly. Loosening his girdle (the meal of potatoes lay heavy upon him), he began to nod. The doves cooed on the thatch, and the leaves were quivering with slumberous murmurs.
“Thomas!”
It was Agata’s voice. He opened his eyes. She was sitting beside him, with an anxious look.
“These months before
