“What she is, the old man will find out soon enough, and that’s his business; but to my mind there are in her the makings of a housewife—and a fine one, too!” was Eva’s muttered remark to Yagustynka.
“A fool that’s in favour will always be clever,” the latter returned bitterly. “Things will go on as they are till she has had too much of the old man, and begins again running after young fellows.”
“Aye, Matthew is lying in wait: he has not given her up.”
“But give her up he will! Somebody else will make him!”
“Boryna?”
“Boryna?” She smiled a crafty smile. “No, someone yet mightier. I mean—no: time will show, and you will see.—Vitek! Drive that dog away: it barks and barks till my ears are aching. And drive those boys away too: they will be breaking the panes, or doing some mischief.”
Vitek rushed out with a stick. The dog barked no more. But there were cries without, and the noisy footfalls of a crowd of flying urchins. He drove them into the road, and ran back, bent double to escape a shower of missiles that assailed him.
Roch showed himself in the shade at the corner of the yard. “Vitek, wait a little. Call thou Ambrose; say I want him very urgently indeed, and am awaiting him in the porch.”
It was only after some time that Ambrose appeared, and in a detestable humour. His supper had been interrupted, and at the very best dish of all—sucking-pig with peas.
“What? what? Is the church on fire?”
“Do not raise your voice so. Come to Kuba: I fear he is dying.”
“Oh, let him die, then, and not prevent folk from eating their supper! I was with him only this very evening, and told him he would have to go to the hospital, and get his leg cut off, and he would be well in a trice.”
“You told him that?—Oh, then I understand. … I—I think he has cut off his own leg!”
“Jesu Maria!—His—his own leg?”
“Come instantly and look. I was going to sleep in the cow-byre, and had just entered the yard, when Lapa came barking to me, and jumping, and pulling me by my capote. I could not make out what it wanted; but it ran forward, sat down on the stable threshold, and howled. Thither I went and saw Kuba lying in the doorway, half in, half out. I thought at first he had gone to get some air, and fainted on the way: so I carried him back to his pallet, and lit the lantern to get him some water; and it was then I saw he was bloodstained all over—deathly pale, and with blood pouring from his leg.”
They went in, and Ambrose did his very best to bring Kuba to; but the poor fellow was extremely weak. He scarce drew breath, and a rattling sound came through his teeth, clenched so fast that, to give him a little water, they had to prize them open with a knife.
The leg, which had been hewn off at the knee, and still dangled by a shred of skin, bled profusely.
A great pool of gore lay on the threshold, close to a bloodstained ax and the grindstone, usually placed under the eaves, now fallen near the doorway.
“Aye, he has cut it off himself. Afraid of the hospital.—A fool to think it would avail him: but dauntless and resolute all the same.—Good God! … his own leg! … it is simply incredible. … And the blood he has lost!”
At this juncture, Kuba opened his eyes, and looked round him with returning consciousness.
“Is it off? … I struck twice, but swooned—” he said feebly.
“Any pain?”
“None at all. … Weak as water … but not ailing.”
Ambrose dressed, washed and bound the leg with moist rags, Kuba lay still meanwhile, uttering not the least sound.
Roch, on his knees, held the lantern, praying fervently the while; but the patient smiled—a faint tearful smile, as when an orphan babe, abandoned afield, knows only that his mother is not there, not that she has forsaken him, and enjoys the grass waving over his head, and the sunbeams, and stretches out his hands to the birds that fly past, conversing with all around him after his fashion: even so did he feel now. He was at ease, without pain and in comfort; so cheerful that he thought no whit of his ill, but felt secretly rather proud of himself. How sharp he had ground the ax! how well he had placed the limb on the threshold, and—one blow not sufficing—struck a second with all his might! And now the pain was all gone; so of course he had succeeded.—Oh, if he were but a trifle stronger, he would not lie rotting on that pallet any more, but be up, and go to the wedding … dance even—and eat a morsel, for he would fain eat!
“Lie you still, and do not budge. I will tell Yuzka, and you shall have something to eat presently.” So said Roch, patting his cheeks; and he went out into the yard with Ambrose.
“He will drop off ere morning—fall asleep like a little bird: there’s no more blood in him.”
“Then, while he is conscious, the priest must be sent for.”
“His Reverence has gone to spend the evening at the manor-house at Vola.”
“I’ll go and tell him: there must be no delay.”
“Five miles on foot and through the forest! You would never be in time.—No: the carts of those guests here who leave after supper are ready; take one and go.”
They got a cart on to the road, and Roch seated himself.
“Do not forget Kuba!” he called out as he started: “Have a care of him!”
“Yes, yes, I shall remember, and not leave him by himself.”
Nevertheless, he did forget him almost directly. After telling Yuzka about the eatables, he went back to supper, and applied himself so close to the bottle that he very soon remembered nothing at all. …
Yuzka, being a kindhearted little girl, at once brought him all she could get, piling it up on a dish,
