They walked along, pondering the question of how the property should be divided.
A ditty rose, wafted on the wind—possibly from the fields where they were at work on the potatoes; from the mill came the beating of the waterwheels, mingling with the strokes of a washerwoman’s batlet hard by.
“The mill is continually grinding now,” Magda remarked.
“Aye, the days before harvest are the miller’s harvest.”
Hanka sighed. “Times are much harder this year than last. Everyone complains bitterly, and the komorniki are really starving.”
“And the Koziols,” the blacksmith added, “are prowling about to snap up anything they can lay hands on!”
“Say not that. The poor creatures keep themselves alive as best they can. Yesterday Kozlova sold her ducklings to the organist’s wife, and got some money thereby.”
“They will soon drink it all,” Magda returned. “I will say no word to their hurt; but ’tis strange that my boy found the feathers of the drake I lost during father’s funeral, behind their cow-byre.”
“And who was it,” Yuzka asked, “that made off with our bedding that very same day?”
“When is their suit against the Voyt to come off?”
“Not so soon. But Ploshka is for them, and they will make things hot for the Voyt and his wife.”
“Ploshka was ever a meddler with other folk’s matters.”
“Our friend, hoping to become Voyt, is currying favour everywhere.”
Here Yankel passed by, dragging and pulling at the mane of a hobbled horse, that lashed out and resisted with all its might and they laughed and made merry at his expense.
“Oh, ’tis well for you that ye can laugh! What trouble I have with the beast!”
“Stuff it with straw, fix a new tail on it, and take it to some fair: it will never do as a horse, but ye may sell it for a cow!” the smith bawled. Their laughter became a roar, for the horse had jerked himself free, leaped into the pond, and, in spite of threats and entreaties, lain down wallowing in the water.
“A remarkable brute. Bought of a gipsy, no doubt?”
“Set a pail of vodka before it: ye may then perhaps tempt it out!” joined in the organist’s wife, who sat by the pond, watching a flock of ducklings, as downy as yellow catkins, while a hen ran cackling along the bank in dismay.
“ ’Tis a fine lot.—From the Koziols, I suppose?”
“Yes. But they are always running away to the pond.” And she tried to call them back, flinging them handfuls of Turkish wheat into the water.
Seeing them, however, making for the other bank, she went after them in a hurry.
As soon as they had arrived, and Hanka was busy over the breakfast, the blacksmith set to prowl about every corner of the cabin and all the premises, even exploring the potato-pits. At last Hanka could not help observing:
“Think ye any potatoes are missing?”
“I never,” he answered, “buy a pig in a poke.”
“Ye know the place of everything better than I do myself,” she said, stiffly, pouring out the coffee. “Come, Dominikova! Come, Yagna! Come and join us!”
For those two had, on arriving, shut themselves up in the opposite room.
No one was at first willing to open the conversation. Hanka, extremely cautious and guarded, pressed them all to eat, and poured out coffee abundantly, but kept her eyes carefully all the time on the smith, who was prying about from his place, darting glances in every direction, and clearing his throat again and again. Yagna sat louring and mournful, her eyes glistening as if they had been quite recently full of tears. At her side, Dominikova talked in whispers. Yuzka was the only one to chatter freely, which she did just as usual, as she flew from one pot to another, full of boiling potatoes.
After a long tedious pause, the smith broached the subject.
“Well. How shall we divide the property?”
Hanka gave a start; but she at once recovered herself, and replied with calm and evidently after having thought it out well:
“How are we to divide it at all? I am here only to watch over my goodman’s estate, and have no power to decide aught. When Antek returns, he will see to the division.”
“But when will he come back? And things cannot drag on so.”
“They must! As they did during Father’s illness, so they shall until Antek’s return.”
“But he is not the only inheritor.”
“But, he being the eldest son, the land comes down to him from his father.”
“He has not more right to it than any of us.”
“Ye also may have your share of the land, if Antek prefers it so. I shall not quarrel over this with you: the decision is not mine.”
“Yagna!” her mother urged; “say a word about your claim.”
“Why should I? They know of it well enough.”
Hanka turned a deep red, and kicked Lapa, that had curled up beneath her feet. She hissed between her clenched teeth:
“Aye, the wrong done to us, we remember it well!”
“As you say. Wild words are of no account here, but the six acres are—those made over to Yagna by her late goodman.”
“If the deed of gift is in your hands, none can snatch it away,” Magda growled angrily. She had hitherto been sitting speechless and giving suck to her baby.
“True; and we have it duly signed and attested.”
“Well, all must wait, and Yagna with the rest.”
“Of course. But she may take away her personal belongings at once: her cow, her calf, her swine, her geese. …”
“No!” the smith interrupted in a hard voice. “All those things are common property, and to be shared equally by all.”
“By all? Is that your will? No one can take from her my wedding-present!” And, raising her voice, “Perchance,” she cried, “ye would likewise divide her petticoats amongst you—and her featherbed likewise … eh?”
“I did but jest; and ye fly out at me at once!”
“Because I know you
