Often, before evening set in, chilly rains would fall; and these, as time went on, continued even till twilight—that long autumn twilight when the cabin windows would shine flaming like golden blossoms, and the pools in the deserted roads glistened as glass—and even till the cold wet wind of the night flung its drops against the panes and moaned among the orchard trees.
One broken-winged stork that had remained perforce, and was often seen stalking about the meadows, now began to draw near to Boryna’s cornstacks, and Vitek took delight in attracting it by giving it food.
Dziads,10 too, now passed through the village more and more frequently; not only those of the usual kind, who went from house to house with their cavernous wallets and their lengthy prayers, and at whose approach the house-dogs always fell a-baying; but also certain others of a very different sort. These had travelled much and far, to many holy places; they knew Chenstohova, and Ostrobrama, and Kalvarya well, and in the long evenings they would willingly entertain the village folk by tales of what was going on in the world, and the strange things done in foreign parts. And there were even some who told of the Holy Land, and related such marvels about the vast seas they had crossed, and the adventures which had befallen them, that the people listened in pious amazement, and more than one could scarcely believe that such things could be.
Ah, it was autumn, late autumn now!
Neither rollicking songs, nor merry shouts, nor even the chirruping of little birds, could be heard in the village any more: only the blast howling over the thatched roofs, the icy rain pouring glass-like films down the rattling panes, and the quick dull thudding of the flails on the threshing-floors, which grew daily louder and louder.
It was indeed Autumn, the mother of Winter.
One comfort there was. Hitherto the weather had not been really bad, and the roads had not yet softened into bogs; so possibly it might hold until the fair, to which, as to a village fête, all Lipka was presently going.
It was to take place on St. Cordula’s day and, it being the last fair previous to Yuletide, everybody had made preparations.
Many days before, the great question, What ought to be sold? had been debated: whether cattle, or corn, or some livestock of the smaller kind. It would also be needful, since winter was coming on, to make purchases; and those to no small amount. Thence arose not a few bickerings and tiffs and jars in the families: all knew that no one had much money to spare, and cash was harder to get every day.
Besides, it was just then that the taxes had to be paid, and the communal rates too, and various sums to be laid out, borrowed money to be returned in many cases, and not infrequently, the servants’ wages were due. So that more than one owner (even of seventeen acres!) was sometimes in straits to know what he had better do.
And so, some took a cow out of the byre, cleansed her dung-plastered sides with straw, gave her plenty of clover for the night, or a mess of barley boiled with potatoes, and did all they could to fatten her up a little; while others experimented with some blind old jade, completely worthless, endeavouring to make it look at least something like a horse.
And others in order to have their corn ready in time, were busily threshing it all day long.
At Boryna’s, too, all were working amain. Aided by Kuba, the old man threshed out all his wheat, while Yuzka and Hanka employed every leisure moment in fattening the sow, or such of the geese as they had selected for sale. And, as rain was expected at any moment, Antek went time and again to the wood with Vitek, to get dry boughs and brushwood for fuel and litter: of this, some went to the cow-house, and the rest to make a warm outer coating for the hut.
This forced spell of work was kept up till late the last evening before the fair; and it was not until the wheat, all in sacks upon the cart, had been wheeled into the barn, and everything was quite ready for the morrow, that they all sat down together to supper in Boryna’s cabin.
The fire was leaping merrily up the chimney, and by its light they ate with leisurely decorum and in silence; but when the meal was over, and the womenfolk had cleared away pots and pans, Boryna drew a little closer to the fire and said:
“We shall have to start ere day breaks.”
“Certainly, not a whit later,” Antek replied, and set to greasing the harness, while Kuba was engaged in whittling a swipple for his flail; and Vitek, occupied in peeling potatoes for next morning’s meal, nevertheless found means to play with Lapa, who lay close by and searched for fleas.
Nothing was heard for some time but the crackling of the logs, the shrill cry of crickets beside the hearth, the splashing of water outside the room, and the clinking of pots and dishes.
“Kuba, do you intend to remain in my service next year?”
He let his knife drop, and gazed so long and steadily into the fire that Boryna asked him whether he had heard the question.
“Heard it? I have: but I was thinking.—Truly, you have not treated me ill in any wise. … Only—” Here he broke off in some confusion.
“Yuzka! Bring vodka and a bit of something.—Are we like Jews, to be dry when we do business?”
Thus he gave his order, and drew a bench closer to the fire. Yuzka presently brought in a bottle and a loaf and a string of sausages, and set them on the bench.
“Drink, Kuba, drink, and say your say.”
“Thanks, master.—Well, I’d like to stay, but … but. …”
“Some increase of wages, perhaps?”
“It were good. For see, my
