Shmul brought it. They drank once and a second time; then Repa planted his fists on his knees and began to doze. He nodded once, nodded a second time; at last he dropped from the bench, muttering, "God be merciful to me a sinner," and fell asleep. Repa's wife did not come for him; she knew that if be were drunk he would abuse her, perhaps. He used to do so. The next day he would beg her pardon, and kiss her hands. When he was sober, he never said an evil word to the woman; but sometimes he attacked her when he was drunk. So Repa slept all night in the public house. Next morning he woke at sunrise. He looked, stared, saw that it was not his cottage, but the dram-shop, and not the room in which they were sitting the evening before, but the general room, where the counter was. "In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost!" He looked still more carefully; the sun was rising and shining in through the colored window-panes, and at the window was Shmul, dressed in a shroud with a head-band and plate on his forehead; he was standing, nodding and praying aloud. "Shmul, dog faith!" cried Repa. But Shmul made no answer. He swayed backward and forward, prayed on. Then Repa began to feel of himself, as every peasant does who has slept a night in a drinking-house. He felt the money. "Jesus, Mary! but what is this?" Meanwhile, Shmul had finished praying; he removed the shroud and cap, put them away in the room, then returned with slow step, important and calm. "Shmul!" "Well, what dost thou want?" "What money is this that I have here?" "Knowest not, stupid fellow? Thou didst agree last night with the mayor to take the place of his son; thou didst take the money and sign an agreement." Repa became as pale as a white wall; then he threw his cap on the floor, dropped onto it, and roared till the window-panes rattled. "Now go out, thou soldier!" said Shmul, phlegmatically. Half an hour later, Repa was approaching his cottage; his wife, who was cooking breakfast just then, heard him when the gate squeaked, and ran straight from the fire to meet him; she was very angry. "Thou drunkard!" began she. But when she looked at the man, she was frightened, for she hardly knew him. "What is the matter with thee?" Repa went into the cottage, and at first could not say a word; he only sat on the bench and looked at the floor. But Marysia began to inquire, and got everything out of him finally. "They sold me," said he. Then she in her turn broke into a great lament; he after her; the child in the cradle began to roar; Kruchek, the dog, outside the door howled so piteously that women with spoons in their hands ran among other cottages and inquired one of another,-- "What has happened there at Repa's?" "It must be that he is beating her, or something." Meanwhile Repa's wife was lamenting still more than Repa himself, for she loved him, poor woman, above everything in the world. CHAPTER V.