They did not, however, quite forget the Germans, but got someone or other to go daily and see what they were about.
They still were there, but had given up digging wells and fetching stones to build; and, as the blacksmith announced one day, they had laid a complaint against the Squire for money matters, and against the men of Lipka for “threats and conspiracy.”
At this the peasants laughed very heartily.
It was just this topic which was discussed that day in the meadow at dinnertime.
An intensely hot noontide, with the sun overhead, the sky hanging above with a whitish glow, a blasting heat around as from an oven; no breath of wind; leaves shrivelling up; birds silent; short thin shadows that scarcely shaded at all; the strong aroma of the heated grasses; corn and orchards and huts standing as if wrapped in white flame; all things, as it were, melting away in the air that trembled like water simmering on the fire. Even the river ran more slowly, its stream shining like fused glass, so transparent that beneath the surface-currents every gudgeon, every stone at the sandy bottom, every crayfish scuffing about in the luminous shadows of the banks, showed forth clear and distinct. A deep calm, spinning its slumberous web, crept over the sunlit earth; and nothing was noisy save the buzzing flies.
The mowers sat down on the riverbank, beneath a clump of tall alders, eating their dinner out of the porringers brought, for Matthew by his sister Nastka, for the others by Hanka and Yagustynka. These seated themselves on the grass in the sun’s full glare, and, with their kerchiefs drawn over their heads, listened attentively to the talk.
“I,” said Matthew, scraping his emptied porringer, “have always held that the Germans would take themselves off one of these days.”
“The priest held so too,” Hanka remarked.
“And so they will, if the Squire wills it,” growled Kobus, always ready to argue, stretching himself out under a tree.
“What?” Yagustynka asked, sneeringly as usual; “did they not fear the noise ye made, and run?”
Her jeer was unnoticed, and someone observed:
“The smith said yesterday that the Squire would come to terms with us.”
“Strange that Michael is on our side now!”
“He has,” the old woman hissed, “found he would get more thereby.”
“The miller too, they say, has pleaded at the Manor-house for the village.”
“Those good souls! They are all on our side now!” said Matthew. “Why?—I’ll tell you. The Squire promised the smith a goodly reward for the reconciliation. The miller fears the Germans may set up a windmill on the high ground in Podlesie. And the tavern-keeper befriends the people out of fear for himself: he knows well that where a German settles, no Jew can get his bread.”
“The Squire wishes to be reconciled: does he fear us peasants, then?”
“Ye have hit the mark, Mother; of all of them, he is the most afraid.”
Here Matthew broke off; Vitek was coming from the village at full speed.
“Mistress, come at once!” he bawled from a distance.
“What, is the house on fire?” she faltered, terrified.
“ ’Tis Master, and he is crying out for something.”
She ran off instantly.
The fact was that, ever since morning, Matthias had been strange, plucking at his coverlet and seeming to look for something. Before setting out for the meadow, Hanka had charged Yuzka to take special care of him, and the latter had many a time gone to look; but he had lain quiet till about dinnertime, when he suddenly fell a-shouting very loud.
On Hanka’s arrival, he sat up, and called out:
“My boots—where are they? Give them to me, and quickly too!”
“I’ll get them from the storeroom in an instant!” she said, to pacify him; for he seemed quite sensible, and looked keenly about him.
“Mother of dogs! how I have overslept myself!” and he yawned wide and deep.
“It is broad day, and ye are sleeping, all of you!—Let Kuba get the harrow ready,” he commanded; “we shall go out and sow.”
They stood before him, hesitating, when he suddenly collapsed, falling helpless to the ground.
“Fear not, Hanka, I had a fit of dizziness. Is Antek afield, hey?—Afield?” he repeated, when they had replaced him on the bed.
“Aye,” she stammered. “Ever since daybreak.” For she feared to cross him.
He looked about him brightly and talked much; but one word out of ten was sense, and the rest drivel. He again wanted to get up and go out, called for his boots—and then put his hands to his head and moaned pitifully. Hanka knew that the end was at hand; so she ordered him to be borne within doors, and sent for the priest in the afternoon.
He came presently with the Holy Sacrament, but could only give him Extreme Unction.
“His state needs nothing more,” the priest said; “in a few hours he will be with his fathers.”
In the evening, many people visited the cabin, for he seemed on the point of death; and Hanka put the lighted taper of the dying in his hand. But presently he fell into a quiet sleep.
The next day there was no change. He recognized people, and spoke sensibly, but lay for hours together as still as a corpse.
The smith’s wife was at his bedside continually; also Yagustynka, who wanted to fumigate him!
“Let alone; ye may set the place on fire,” he burst out unexpectedly.
And at noon, when the smith came and looked into his half-closed eyes, he smiled strangely, and uttered these words:
“Do not trouble, Michael; I shall drop off soon enough—soon enough!”
So saying, he turned his face to the wall, and spoke no more. He was evidently going rapidly downhill, so they now watched him with care; especially Yagna, over whom an extraordinary change had come.
“I alone shall tend him! It is my right,”
