“Yagna! Pray give some aid to a poor creature. Your people are good, true Christians! I’ll say a Hail Mary for your departed. … O Yagna!”
Yagna, thus recalled to herself, looked to see who it was that spoke, and saw Agatha, who was sitting close to the monastery wall, upon a bundle of straw: for the mud was there more than ankle-deep.
Coming to a standstill, she fumbled in her dress for some coppers; and Agatha, overjoyed to have met someone of her village, began to ask her what was going on at Lipka.
“Are all the potatoes in?”
“To the very last.”
“Anything new at the Klembas’?”
“What, they have sent you away to beg … and you still care about them?”
“Sent me away? That they did not; I went by myself, for it was needful. And I care about them, because they are my kinsfolk.”
“And what are you doing now?”
“Going from church to church, from hamlet to hamlet, from fair to fair; and, as guerdon for my prayers, the good people give me, here a corner to sleep in, there a morsel to feed me, and at times a copper or two. The people are good; they will not let a poor creature starve, not they!” She broke off, and asked, with some hesitation: “Do you know if all the Klembas are in good health?”
“They are; and how are you?”
“Oh, my health is nothing to boast of. Always a pain in my chest; and when I take cold, I spit hot blood. I shall not last long, no!—If I can but hold out till spring, I will go back to the village to die among my own people. I ask naught else of our Lord. … Naught else.”
“Say a prayer for Father’s soul?” Yagna whispered, slipping some coins into her hand.
“That will be for all the holy souls in purgatory; for as it is, I always pray for all those I know, living and dead.—But … Yagna! … Have they sent no one to you with vodka?”
“Yes.”
“And you would drink back to none?”
“To none,” she replied briefly. “God be with you, and come next spring to see us.” And she went to rejoin her mother, whom she perceived at some distance with the organist.
Boryna was returning to Antek, but slowly, both on account of the crowds, and because the thought of Yagna was haunting him. Before he saw his son, however, the blacksmith met him. They greeted one another, and walked on side by side without speaking. At last:
“Are you going to settle with me, or not?” the smith began, in no friendly voice. Boryna was up in arms at once.
“Settle what? Lipka was the place to speak with me.”
“These three years I have been waiting. People advise me to bring an action at law … but. …”
“Do so. I’ll introduce you to a scrivener; yes, and pay him a rouble to draw up a complaint for you!”
“… But I think,” the smith went on, with crafty moderation, “it were best to have a friendly understanding.”
“Right. ‘By a neighbourly course get what’s not got by force!’ ”
“You say wisely.”
“You will get it neither in one way nor in the other.”
“I have always told my wife that you, Father, loved justice.”
“Everyone wants justice … on his side. I am indifferent, for I owe nothing.” At those stern words, the blacksmith saw he would get nothing by his former tactics, so he changed them. As if there had been no dispute, he very quietly uttered the request:
“Will you stand me a drink? I should like one.”
“Certainly, dearest son-in-law: yes, even should you ask for a litre.” The tones were rather sneering; but they entered the corner tavern together. Here they found Ambrose, not drinking, but seated in a corner, sulky and sad.
“I feel my bones ache; we shall have nasty weather,” Ambrose predicted.
They drank once and again, but saying not a word, each angry with the other.
“You take your vodka as they do at a funeral,” Ambrose said; he felt sore at not being invited, for he had scarcely taken anything that morning.
“How can we talk? Father-in-law is selling so much today that he must think to whom he had best lend his cash out at interest.”
“Matthias, Matthias!” cried Ambrose; “I say to you that our Lord. …”
“Matthias I am—for some, not for you, you saucy fellow!—Look at him! ‘Fain would the swine say to the swineherd, Brother!’ ”
The smith had already taken a couple of stiff drams, and felt inclined to argue. He lowered his tone, to say:
“Father-in-law, tell me once for all: will you, or will you not, give what I ask?”
“You have heard my answer. I cannot take my land to the grave with me; but, while I am living, not one acre will I give up. I will not be fed at your expense, and mean to enjoy a year or two in this world still.”
“Then pay me off!”
“I have spoken: have you heard?”
“He is looking out,” Ambrose whispered, “for a third wife. What are his children to him?”
“That’s likely, indeed!”
“Marry I shall, if I choose,” put in Boryna. “Do you object?”
“Object? No; but. …”
“If I choose, I shall send a proposal—yes, and no later than tomorrow!”
“Do so. What have I against it? Only let me have Red-and-White’s calf, and I’ll even help you all I can. You, a reasonable man, must know what is best for you. I have said so many a time to my wife: you want a woman in the house to keep it in order.”
“Michael! You said that?”
“May I die unshriven if I did not! Yes, I did say so. I, who advise the whole village, each
