Again he sat down, while the Voyt and his party once more attempted to frighten the peasants into obedience.
“Vote for the school!—We must!”
“Have ye not heard? An ill thing is impending!”
Meanwhile, the scrivener read the list of names, and the cry, “Here! Here!” was heard with incessant reiteration.
This done, the Voyt ordered those who were for the school to pass to the right and raise their hands.
A good many did so, but the bulk of the assembly would not budge.
The head official then, knitting his brows, ordered the votes to be taken by name, “that all might be done with strict justice.”
Gregory was dismayed on hearing this order. He was but too sure that the majority would weaken, and not venture to oppose the vote.
The polling took a long time, for the people were very numerous; but the result was given at last:
“Ayes, two hundred; noes, eighty.”
Gregory’s party raised a great protest.
“We have been cheated!—Vote again!”
“I said, No! and they put my vote down for the school!” one man, soon followed by many others, declared persistently; and the more zealous proposed to tear up the papers and thus annul the voting.
A coach from the Manor then passed by good fortune outside the Office, and the people had to draw back willy-nilly. The District Official, having read the list, handed to him by a manservant, declared solemnly: “It is well; ye shall have a school in Lipka.”
No one spoke a word any more; they all stood gazing at him in silence.
He then, after signing a few papers, got into his coach and drove away.
They all bowed to the ground. He took no notice of them, even by a glance; but, having spoken a few words with the gendarmes, turned off to the Manor of Modlitsa by a side road.
Their eyes followed him in silence. At last, one of Gregory’s men said:
“That lamb, so meek and mild, can show fangs that bite deeper than a wolf’s—aye, and when we least expect it, trample us under his feet!”
“How could they govern at all, unless we were fools and they scared us?”
Gregory breathed hard, looked round, and whispered:
“For today, we have lost: it is hard; but the people have not yet learned how to resist.”
“And that they will hardly learn, so long as everything can frighten them.”
“My God! what a man! He tramples even the laws underfoot.”
“Aye, they are for us, not him!”
Here a peasant from Przylek came complaining to Gregory.
“I meant to vote for you; but behold! when he fixed his eyes on me, I could not speak a word, and the scrivener wrote down what he pleased.”
“There have been so many abuses that we might well make an appeal.”
“Come all to the tavern!” cried Matthew. “May a brimstone thunderbolt smash them all!” Then, turning to the crowd, he shouted:
“Do ye know, my men, that the head has forgotten to tell you one thing?—That ye are a rabble of sheep and curs. Ye will be well paid for your obedience; but such idiots as ye are deserve to be flayed alive—not only fleeced.”
They answered him back, some even abusing him roundly; but their attention was then drawn off by a cart with a Jewish driver, and Yanek sitting in it.
Yanek was soon surrounded by a crowd, and Gregory told him what had occurred. Yanek listened, talked to them for a while, and then drove on.
The others repaired to the tavern, where, after a couple of glasses, Matthew roared out:
“I tell you, the Voyt and the miller are to blame for everything!”
“Quite true,” Ploshka chimed in; “they were all the time canvassing and pressing and bullying us!”
“And the head official threatened us, just as if he knew all about Roch!” someone faltered.
“If he does not, he is sure to be told. We have informers amongst us!”
“What,” Gregory inquired with an uneasy glance, “what has become of those gendarmes?”
“Gone somewhere in the direction of Lipka.”
Gregory for a short time lounged about the tavern with the others, but presently he slipped out unnoticed by anyone, making for Lipka by a shortcut across the fields.
IX
Antek left the assembly about as willingly as a cat driven away from a bowl of milk. He was even deliberating whether he had not better return, when, perceiving the gendarmes following him, he was struck with an idea. On his way, he broke off a large bough, and set about whittling it into a stick, leaning against a fence, and eyeing the “Brown-Coats,” who walked as slowly as they could, but could not help coming up with him very soon.
“Wither away, my ancient?” he asked the elder of them in a tone of mockery.
“On duty, Master Farmer.—Are we bound for the same place?”
“It would please me, but I fancy not.”
Looking around, he saw that they were quite alone with him, but still too near the District Office: so he went with them, walking close to the hedge, and well on the lookout for a sudden attack.
The “ancient,” cautiously disposed, continued the talk in a friendly tone, complaining bitterly that he had not eaten since early morning.
“The scrivener,” Antek replied, “has treated the head official most grandly, so no doubt he had left good things for you, my ancient!—Alas! in the country there are no such dainties to be had—only kluski or cabbage!—and what are those things for grand folk like you?” He was jeering on purpose to irritate them. The younger of the two, a stalwart young fellow with flashing eyes, growled under his breath, but the “ancient” made no answer.
Antek, still playing with the men, now stirred his legs so vigorously that they had much ado to keep up with him, and awkwardly splashed along after him through pools and stumbled into hollows.
The countryside was quite empty and deserted; a blazing sun burned. Here and there a peasant stared after them, or a few children peeped out from shady places: the village
