“Whereas ye could be beyond the seas in three weeks: ask Yankel.”
“But it is so horribly far! How can I go—throw up everything—leave home, children, land, my village, and flee so awfully far—and forever?”
He was absolutely panic-stricken.
“But yet so many have gone there of their own accord; and none of these ever dreamed of returning to this Paradise of ours.”
“And I cannot bear even to think of it!”
“True. But take a look at Voytek, and hear what he tells about his penal servitude: ye will find it still more unbearable to think of. Why, the man is not forty yet, but quite hoary, and bent, and tottering: he spits blood, and can hardly move, and all can see he is bound for the ‘priest’s byre’ soon.—But I need say no more: ye have your reason, and must decide.”
And for the time he was silent; having sown trouble in the man’s mind, he could safely leave it to grow up in time, and bring forth the harvest he expected. So, having repaired the plough, he said lightly:
“And now I am off to the dealers. Have your cart ready to carry the timber.—As for that other business, do not trouble. What is to be—is to be; and God is merciful.—I shall see you tomorrow evening.”
Antek, however, could not forget his words. He had swallowed the bait of friendship, and it stuck in his throat, just as a hook sticks in the poor fish that has taken it and chokes. What pangs he felt—what sufferings he had to bear!
“Ten years! Ten years! Oh, how can I ever bear ten years!” The very thought palsied and benumbed him.
Arriving at his home, he trundled the cart into the barn, to have it in readiness for the next morning; but feeling a deep sense of weariness come over him—of the utter inutility of all his efforts—he only called to Pete, who was watering the horses at the well.
“Grease the cart’s axletrees, and have it in readiness for tomorrow. Tomorrow you’ll have to bring timber from the forest to the sawmill here.”
Pete, who cared but little for such hard work, swore violently when he heard the order.
“Keep a civil tongue in your head, and do as I tell you.—Hanka, give the horses three measures of oats for provender tomorrow, and you, Pete, get them fresh clover from the meadow: they must have plenty to eat.”
To Hanka’s questionings he gave only a mumbled answer, and presently went round to Matthew, with whom he was now on a very friendly footing.
The latter, who had but just come home from his work, was supping a dish of sour milk outside his cabin, to cool him after the heat of the day.
Antek could hear, somewhere near, a sort of trickling sound—a querulous heartbroken wailing.
“Who is making that noise?”
“Who but my sister Nastka? I have enough of her love affair!—Her banns are all published now, her wedding is to take place next Sunday—and lo! Dominikova has sent word to us through the Soltys that the holding had been left to her alone; that she will not let Simon have a single strip of land, nor even enter her cabin! And the old woman will keep to what she says: I know her well, that creature!”
“And Simon? What has he to say to that?”
“What should he say? Ever since the morning, he has been sitting in the orchard as dumb as a post, and says not one word even to Nastka. I am afraid his mind must have given way!”
“Simon!” he cried out into the orchard. “Come this way. Boryna is here to see us; perchance he can give some good advice.”
After a minute, he came and sat down, without any word of greeting to either of them. He looked very much broken down, and as thin as a plank of aspen wood. Only his eyes burned; and on his thin face there was a look of desperate resolve, from which nothing on earth could turn him away.
“Well,” Matthew asked him in a kindly tone, “what have you made up your mind to do?”
“To take an ax and kill her like a dog!”
“Fool! keep such wild talk for the tavern!”
“As there’s a God in heaven, I will kill her. What—what else remains for me to do? She drives me off my father’s land, turns me out of my hut, gives me no money whatever—what am I to do? I am an orphan, cast destitute on the world; and whither shall I go—whither? My own mother has wronged me so awfully!” he groaned, brushing away a tear with his sleeve. Then, suddenly starting up: “No!” he cried out; “in the name of all mothers of dogs, I will not forgive this, I will not—not if I should rot in jail for it!”
They quieted him. He sat still, but sombre, and in such a state of dumb fury that he would not so much as answer Nastka’s sobbing whispers. The others conferred together, thinking how they could be of use to him; but they found no means, because Dominikova, with her hopeless obstinacy, blocked the way. But at last Nastka took her brother aside, and pointed out a plan to him.
“She has hit on an excellent thing!” he exclaimed in great joy, on returning. “She says: Let him purchase six acres of the Podlesie farm from the Squire, to be paid by instalments.—Is’t not a good thought?”
“As good as any, indeed—But … whence shall the money come?”
“In any case, for the outset, and as an earnest, Nastka has her thousand zloty of ready money.”
“True; but whence will the live stock come, and the cabin, the implements and the seed to sow?”
“Whence?—From these!” Simon cried suddenly, springing up and waving both his arms.
“ ’Tis good talk, that; but can you accomplish it?” Antek asked, in doubt.
“Let me but have it—the land to work on … and ye shall see!” he exclaimed with great energy.
“Then we have but to talk
