Then he jogged along slowly, still brooding over his troubles and the death of the cow.
Now he was as lonely as a signpost. There was no one he could complain or tell things to. … He had to think of everything, and make up his mind, and care for everything all by himself—a dog’s life! … Never could he speak to anyone, nor get any advice or assistance … and the result was, loss upon loss!
The hamlet was now getting dark. Through the wide-open doors and windows (for the evening was warm) there came from the glowing hearths streaks of light, and the odour of cooked potatoes, and porridge with driblets of fried bacon. Many were supping in the passages, or even outside the cabins, and talking merrily to the clatter of spoons.
Boryna’s pace slackened; he was exhausted with the excitement he had gone through, and the thought of the wife he had buried that spring recurred to him and made him gulp down a sob.
“Oh, no! if she—how well I recollect her tonight!—if she had been here, Red-and-White would still be alive. Yes, she was a housewife, indeed, a rare housewife. It’s true, she had a sharp tongue, and never a good word for anyone: but she was a good wife and manager, for all that.” And then he breathed a prayer for her soul, very sore at heart in the remembrance of times gone by.
When he used to come home, all tired and weary, she would give him the best of everything; and time and again would she hand him, on the sly, savoury bits of sausage that she had secreted for him from the children. And, somehow, they throve very well then. Calves and goslings and suckling pigs multiplied; on fair days, there was always plenty to take to town; always cash at hand, and money put by for a rainy day.
And now?
Antek was continually pulling his own way, as was his son-in-law, the blacksmith—always trying to get something out of him. Yuzka?—A frail child, with bran instead of brains in her head; and no wonder, for she was still under ten. And Hanka? She fluttered about like a moth, was forever ailing, and did nothing but whine like a dog.
So everything was going to rack and ruin. Red-and-White had to be killed that day, a pig died at harvest-time; while the crows had carried off so many goslings that but half of them remained. Such losses! Such disasters! All he had was being frittered away, running out like water through a sieve!
“But I won’t give in!” he almost cried aloud: “as long as I can move these limbs of mine, not one acre shall be given up to anyone!”
“Praised be Jesus Christ!” someone greeted him as he passed.
“World without end!” was his instinctive reply as he turned off from the road into a long-fenced lane at the end of which, some distance back from the highway, stood the Voyt’s cottage.
The windows shone brightly. The dogs started to bark, as Boryna walked straight into the best room.
“Is the Voyt at home?” he asked of a stout woman kneeling close to a cradle and suckling a baby.
“No, but he will be presently. Sit down, Matthias; there’s someone else waiting for him, besides.” And the woman threw her chin forward in the direction of a beggar sitting by the fire—the blind old man we have met before, led by a dog. The chips that were burning on the hearth threw a hard reddish light on his large shaven face, his bald crown, and his wide-open eyes, drawn over with a white film and motionless under grey brows.
“Whence has the Lord led you hither?” asked Boryna, seating himself on the opposite side of the fire.
“From up and down the world, good man; and how were it otherwise with me?” was the answer given in a drawling, plaintive voice, while its owner, who listened attentively to each sound, pulled out a snuffbox.
“Pray take a pinch, good man.”
Matthias complied, and such a large pinch did he take that he sneezed three times and the water came to his eyes.
“Awfully strong stuff,” he said, and wiped the tears away with his elbow.
“Petersburg snuff, very good for the eyes. May it be so—for yours!”
“Come round to my cabin tomorrow, will you? I have killed a cow.”
“God reward you. Boryna, I believe?”
“Ah! you are good at guessing.”
“Knew you by your voice and speech.”
“Well, coming from up and down the world, what news have you?”
“Ah! what indeed? Some news is good, some bad, and some indifferent. The way of the world. They all complain and lament when it comes to giving a beggar something; and yet they have always money enough for vodka.”
“You speak truly; it is just as you say.”
“Ho, ho! I have been a wayfarer on this God’s earth long enough to know a thing or two.”
“What,” the Voyt’s wife then asked of him, “what has become of the foundling who came with you last year?”
“Ah! the vile creature! he ran away, filching a pretty good sum out of my wallet. Some good people had given me a little money, and I was taking it to Our Lady of Czestochowa to have mass said, when the wretch stole it and made off. … Be quiet, Burek! It’s the Voyt, I imagine.” And at a pull on the string that held it, the dog ceased barking.
He was right. The Voyt came in and, standing on the threshold, threw
