A girl was going home in the same direction, but by another path, driving a sow with its little ones and singing in a shrill voice:
“Oh, go not near the wagon,
Nor with its axle play,
Nor let a young man kiss thee,
Whatever he may say!”
“Listen to that idiot howling as if she was being skinned alive!”
II
A good many people had gathered by this time in Boryna’s yard, which, surrounded on three sides by farm buildings, was separated from the road by an orchard on the fourth. Several women were offering advice and eyeing with amazement the very large red-and-white cow that lay wallowing on a heap of manure just before the byre.
An old dog, somewhat lame and with hairless patches along its sides, was now sniffing at her and barking, now running to the fence and driving back into the road such boys and girls as had climbed up and were gazing curiously into the yard, and now approaching a sow that lay near the hut, suckling four white little pigs and gently grunting.
Hanka ran straight to the cow on arriving, and at once began to stroke her face and head.
“Poor, poor dear Red-and-White!” she cried, with copious tears and many lamentations.
From time to time the women would recommend her a new remedy for the sick animal. Now they would pour brine down its throat, now milk into which wax from a consecrated taper had been dropped. One advised soap dissolved in whey, and another suggested bleeding. But the cow did not benefit from any of these nostrums. At times she would lift up her head, and, as though imploring for help, low till her beautiful large eyes, with pink-tinged whites, grew dim and misty. Then, quite exhausted with pain, she would bow her horned head and put forth her tongue to lick Hanka’s hand.
“May not Ambrose be able to do something?” was one woman’s suggestions.
“Yes, yes, he knows a good deal about sicknesses.”
“Run to him, Yuzka. He has just rung the Angelus, so is likely to be somewhere about the church. Good God! when Father comes home, how furious he will be! And yet,” Hanka sobbed, “ ’tis no fault of ours!”
She then sat down on the threshold of the cow-house and bared her full white bosom to the babe that was wailing for food, meanwhile watching the suffering animal with keen apprehension and, expecting Boryna’s arrival, casting uneasy glances past the fence.
In a few minutes Yuzka returned, announcing the arrival of Ambrose, who came almost as soon himself. He was close to a hundred years old, one-legged, and walked with the aid of a staff, but still as straight as an arrow. His face, dry and wrinkled as a potato in spring, was clean-shaven, but scarred; his hair as white as milk, with long wisps falling on his forehead and hanging down to his shoulders. He went straight to the cow and looked her over very carefully.
“Oho!” he said, “you will have fresh meat presently, I see.”
“Oh, but pray do something to make her well!” cried Jozia. “A cow worth over three hundred zloty5 … and just now with calf, besides! Do help us! Oh, dear! Oh, dear!”
Ambrose produced a lancet, whetted it on his boot, looked at the edge against the sky, and then cut a blood-vessel in Red-and-White’s belly. But no spurt of blood followed; only a few drops, black and foam-flecked, oozed out slowly.
All were standing about, their necks craned forward, breathless with attention.
“Too late!” he said mournfully. “Yes, the poor thing is near its last gasp. It must be cattle plague or something of the sort. You should have sent for me as soon as there was anything the matter. Those women! Peevish things they are, fit only to weep! When anything’s to be done, they only fall a-bleating. A lot of ewes!”
He spat contemptuously, looked once more at the cow’s eyes and tongue, wiped his gory hands on her sleek hide, and prepared to go.
“I shall not ring for her funeral; your pots will clink instead.”
“Here come Father and Antek!” exclaimed Yuzka, hastening to meet them as a rumbling sound came from the farther end of the pond and a long cart and horses appeared, looming dark against the red glow of dust blazing in the light of the setting sun.
“Father, Father! Red-and-White is dying!” she called out. He was just turning the pond. Antek had got down behind; the pine they had on the cart was a long one, and had to be held up.
“Don’t waste your breath talking nonsense,” he growled in reply, lashing the horses.
“Ambrose has bled it—in vain. Melted wax down her throat—in vain, too. Salt—no use. … ’Tis the cattle-plague, no doubt. Vitek says the forester drove them out of the grove, and all at once Red-and-White lay down and started to moan; and so he brought her back here.”
“Red-and-White, our best cow! You foul beasts! The devil take you for the care you took of her!”
He threw the reins to his son and ran forward, whip in hand.
The women drew away. Vitek, who had all the time been very calmly doing things about the house, ran off, faint with fear, into the garden. Even Hanka stood up on the threshold, bewildered and dismayed.
Old Boryna looked long at the cow and then cried out:
“Yes, she is gone, and because of them! The filthy sluts! Always ready to eat, but to watch—never! Such a splendid animal! One cannot stir from the house, but that some harm and evil must come of it.”
Hanka murmured in excuse: “But I have been out potato-digging all afternoon.”
He turned on her in a rage. “You! Do you ever see anything that goes wrong? Do you care one pin for the things that are mine? Such a cow as ’twould be hard to find—aye, even at a manor farm!”
He went on lamenting for some time, examined the cow, tried to make her stand up, and looked into her mouth. She
