He would then lock himself in, pray for the apostolic spirit, vow to give away his spaniel and empty his cellar of wine. But as a rule, just as the spirit of humility and renunciation was beginning to be awakened, Satan would send him a visitor. 'God have mercy! fate is against me,' he would mutter, get up from his knees, give orders for the kitchen and cellar, and sing jolly songs and drink like an Uhlan a quarter of an hour afterwards. To-night, at the time when Jonah was drawing near to the Parsonage, he was getting ready for a party at a neighbouring landowner's to meet an engineer from Warsaw who would have the latest news and be entertained exceptionally well, for he was courting the landowner's daughter. The priest was longing feverishly for the moment of departure, for lie had been left to himself for several days. He could hardly bear the look of his snow-covered courtyard any more, having no diversion except watching a man chop wood, and hearing the cawing of rooks. He paced to and fro, thinking that another quarter of an hour must have gone, and was surprised to find it was only a few minutes since he had last looked at his watch. He ordered the samovar and lit his pipe. Then there was a knock at the door. Jonah came in, bowing to the ground. 'I am glad to see you,' said the priest, 'there are several things in my wardrobe that want mending.' 'God be praised for that, I haven't had work for a week past. And your honour's lady housekeeper tells me that the clock is broken as well.' 'What? you mend clocks too?' 'Why yes, I've even got the tools to do it with. I'm also an umbrella-mender and harness-maker, and I can glaze stewing-pans.' 'If that is so you might spend the winter here. When can you begin?' 'I'll sit down now and work through the night.' 'As you like. Ask them to give you some tea in the kitchen.' 'Begging your Reverence's pardon, may I ask that the sugar might be served separately?' 'Don't you like your tea sweet?' 'On the contrary, I like it very sweet. But I save the sugar for my grandchildren.' The priest laughed at the Jew's astuteness. 'All right! have your tea with sugar and some for your grandchildren as well. Walenty!' he called out, 'bring me my fur coat.' The Jew began bowing afresh. 'With an entreaty for your Reverence's pardon, I come from Slimak's.' 'The man whose house was burnt down?' 'Not that he asked me to come, your Reverence, he would not presume to do such a thing, but his wife is dead, they are both lying in the stable, and I am sure he has a bad thought in his head, for no one does so much as give him a cup of water.' The priest started. 'No one has visited him?' 'Begging your Reverence's pardon,' bowed the Jew, 'but they say in the village, God's anger has fallen on him, so he must die without help.' He looked into the priest's eyes as if Slimak's salvation depended on him. His Reverence knocked his pipe on the floor till it broke.