People peered out of their huts in alarm. In some cabins, consecrated lamps were lit, and the hymn, “We fly to thy protection, holy Mother,” was sung; while the holy images had been brought out of others, as a safeguard against the powers of evil abroad. And, thank God! the storm passed away, without doing very much harm. Only, when it was nearly over, and the drops of rain began to fall less frequently, there came, from a lonely cloud which hung quite at the end of the village, a bolt of fire that fell on the Voyt’s granary!
At once, flames and smoke burst forth from the building, and people ran to the place in dismay. There was no hope of saving it, from the very beginning, and the fire devoured it as it would have done a heap of dry splinters of wood; but Antek and Matthew, together with the rest, worked away with frantic energy to save Koziol’s hut and the adjacent buildings. Happily the roads were streaming with rainwater; for several thatches had begun to smoke, and from the doomed granary sparks flew abroad thick and fast.
The Voyt was from home: since morning he had been in town on official business. But his wife was there, desperate over her loss, grieving and running about in every direction like a scared hen. And when the danger had passed, and the people were going home, who should approach her but Kozlova, with arms akimbo, and mouth full of loud fierce gibes!
“See ye? The Lord has punished ye for the wrong ye did me, Madam Voyt! Aye, that He has!”
There would have been a fight, for the other rushed at her, with claws stretched forth; but Antek succeeded (not without difficulty, though) in parting them. Then he abused Kozlova in such strong terms that she, like a well-thrashed dog, went back to her hut growling and snarling:
“Yes, Madam Voyt! puff yourself up, do! I shall get my own back, and with good interest!”
Now by this time the storm had rolled away to the woodlands, and the sun had come out again. A flock of white clouds moved athwart the blue sky; the air was cool and fresh, and the birds sang; while the people went forth to mend the damage done, and open the sluices.
Unexpectedly, and almost close to his cabin, Antek had met Yagna, carrying a hoe and a basket. He greeted her cordially; she glared at him like a wolf, and passed on in silence.
“So haughty as that?” he grumbled angrily; and then, seeing Yuzka in the enclosure, rated her soundly for being out in the damp.
She was indeed so much better by now that they had permitted her to lie in the orchard all day long. Her sores were healing beautifully, and leaving no scars, and it was only in secret that Yagustynka continued to anoint her as before, Hanka grudging so great a consumption of butter and eggs.
So she lay, getting well slowly, almost all day long by herself, Vitek now tending the cows again. Only now and then did a girl look in for a while, or Roch sit with her for a little; or old Agata would come to say, as usual, that she was going beyond doubt to die in harvest-time, in Klemba’s cabin, and as a peasant dame should die. But her most frequent companion was Lapa, that always watched by her side, the stork, that would come at her call, and the birds which flew down to her for crumbs.
One day, when no one was in the hut, Yagna came to her with a handful of caramels; but before Yuzka had time to thank her, she had taken to flight on hearing Hanka’s voice somewhere, crying over the hedge:
“May they do ye good!”—She had vanished.
She then ran over to her brother’s, carrying something for him.
She found Nastka beside a cow that was drinking water out of a tub. Simon was building an outhouse close by, and whistling with all his might.
“What!” she exclaimed, very much surprised; “have you got a cow so soon?”
“We have: is she not a beauty?” returned Nastka, very proud of her.
“Really, a very fine one: she must be of Manor stock. Where did ye buy her?”
“Though we have not bought her, yet she is ours! I’ll tell you all—but you’ll never believe me.—Yesterday at dawn, I was aware of something that rubbed against the cabin wall, and thought it might be some hog driven out to the pasture-lands, that was cleaning its sides from caked mire. So I lay down anew, but was not yet asleep, when I heard a faint sound of lowing. I went out; and behold, there stood by the door a cow, tethered, with a bundle of clover in front of her, her udders full, and her face turned up to me. I rubbed mine eyes, thinking this to be some dream of the night. But no: ’twas a live cow, lowing and licking my fingers. Then I felt sure she had strayed from some herd; and Simon too said they would be coming for her in a trice. Only there was one thing:—she was tied up. Could a cow tie herself up in any wise?—But noon came, and no one to take her away, and the milk was oozing from her udders by then: so I eased the poor beast. I asked through the village; no one knew anything of a cow lost. Old Klemba said it might well be some thieves’ trick, and I had better take her to the gendarmie. I was sorry, but what else was I to do?—Then, when noon came next day, Roch came too, and said:
“ ‘You are honest and you are needy; therefore hath the Lord Jesus blessed you with a cow!’
“ ‘A cow falling from the
