“Fiddle-de-dee, fiddle-de-dee!—One fable and two make three! I’ll tell you a far better tale: how a man made an ox.
“ ‘Of old the steer,
Not the ox, was made;
But a man took a blade—
Lo, the ox is here!’
“My tale is at least as true as Roch’s,” she said, with a burst of laughter. Those about her laughed likewise, and presently the room was full of jokes, and funny sayings and tales of all sorts.
“Ah, there’s nothing that Yagustynka does not know!”
“She has learned, she has learned; has she not buried three husbands?”
“Oh, yes: the first taught her in the morning with a whip; the second at noon with a strap; and the third in the evening with a cudgel!” Rafal cried.
“And a fourth would I take, but not you: too stupid a hobbledehoy for me!”
Here one of the young men observed: “As our Lord’s dog could not do without men, so women cannot do without beating: the want of that is what makes Yagustynka so spiteful.”
“You’re a fool,” she retorted, with a fierce snarl. “Just you take heed no one sees you, when you steal your father’s corn for Yankel; let widows alone, they are beyond your understanding!”—Everyone was silent, fearing lest she might, in a fit of anger, tell all she possibly might know. Indeed, she was a most stiff-necked woman, who held her own opinion on every matter, and would often utter such words as made men’s flesh creep, and their hair stand on end. She had respect for no one, not even for the priest and the Church. His Reverence had more than once admonished her, but without effect: nay, she even talked about his rebukes in the village.
“Oh, without any priest we can all manage with God, if we are but honest folk!—Let him rather take more heed of his housekeeper: she is with child for the third time, and will soon be dropping it somewhere, as she did before.”
Such was her character.
When they were about to separate, the Voyt came in with the Soltys, giving orders that the peasants should go next day to work at repairing the road by the mill: it had been damaged by the rains. No sooner had the Voyt come in than he exclaimed, stretching out both arms:
“Why, the old boy has invited all the prettiest girls in the village!”
And so he had: all were of the best stock, and robust and blooming.
The Voyt had a private talk with old Boryna, but no one could catch what they said. He withdrew, after a few words of banter with the lasses, having still half the village to summon for the morrow. They too departed soon after, it being late.
Boryna said farewell to each one in particular, and even saw the elder women to the gate.
Yagustynka, on leaving, raised her voice, and said:
“God bless you for your good cheer; but all was not as it might have been.”
“Indeed?”
“You need someone to keep house for you, Matthias: without such a one, how can things go right?”
“What’s to be done, friend? What’s to be done? … She died, it was God’s will. …”
“Have we no girls here? Why, every Thursday they all wait for you to propose to one of them,” she said, cunningly trying to draw him out. But Boryna only scratched his head and smiled, looking instinctively towards Yagna, who was going out.
Antek expected her exit; so he dressed quickly and slipped out first.
Yagna had to return alone: her companions all lived in the direction of the mill.
“Yagna!” he whispered, coming suddenly out of a hedge-side.
She stopped, knew his voice, and was at once seized with emotion.
“I’ll see you home, Yagna!”—He looked round; the night was black, starless. Above them, the wind roared, sweeping over the treetops.
His arm enclosed her waist in a tight grasp; and, one close to the other, they both vanished in the gloom.
VIII
It was on the following day that the news of the marriage arranged between Boryna and Yagna burst upon the village of Lipka.
The Voyt had gone over to her with the proposal. His wife, whom he had severely forbidden to breathe a single word about the matter until he had come back with the answer, waited till evening to visit an acquaintance, on the pretext of borrowing some salt; and as she went away, she took her good friend apart, and whispered:
“Do you know what? Boryna has just sent a proposal to Yagna, daughter of Dominikova. But beware and tell no one, for my husband has forbidden me to speak of it at all.”
“Can this be?” she gasped in amazement. “Should my tongue wag of such a thing about the village? … So old a man, taking a third wife! … And his children, what will they say? … Oh, what a world it is!”
No sooner had the Voyt’s wife withdrawn than, tying her apron over her head, she hurried through the orchard to the Klembas’, “just to borrow a bit of tow to scrub with.”
“Have you heard? Boryna is to marry Yagna, daughter of Dominikova! He has but now sent messengers with his proposal.”
“Impossible! What do you say? Nay; he has full-grown children, and is himself stricken in years.”
“True, he is not young. But they will not refuse him for that. … A farmer so reputable, a man so rich!”
“Ah, but that Yagna! she that has had dalliance, and with more than one! To be the wife of the first farmer here! Is there any justice in the world, say? And meanwhile, so many a girl is remaining unwedded—my younger sister, for example!”
“Or my brother’s widow. … Or the Kopzyva girls. … Or Nastka, and many another.—No, it is
