'Let Magda sit down, I'll feed her myself.' 'Feed her!' cried Magda, 'he doesn't even know how to hold her.' She tried to take the child from him. 'Don't pull her to pieces,' said the gospodyni, 'pour out the milk and let Maciek feed her, if he is so keen on it.' The way in which Maciek performed his task elicited much advice from Magda. 'He has poured the milk all over her mouth...it's running on to the floor...why do you stick the rag into her nose?' Although he felt that he was making a bad nurse, Maciek would not let the child out of his hands. He hastily ate a little soup, left the rest, and went to his night-quarters in the stable, sheltering the child under his sukmana. When he entered, one of the horses neighed, and the other turned his head and sniffed at the child in the darkness. 'That's right, greet the new stable-boy who can't even hold a whip,' laughed Maciek. The rain continued to fall. When Slimak looked out later on, the stable door was shut, and he fancied he could hear Maciek snoring. He returned into the room. 'Are they all right in there?' asked his wife. 'They are asleep,' he replied, and bolted the door. The cocks had crowed midnight, the dog had barked his answer and squeezed under the cart for shelter, everybody was asleep. Then the stable door creaked, and a shadow stole out, moved along the walls and disappeared into the cowshed. It was Maciek. He drew the whimpering child from under his sukmana and put its mouth to the cow's udder. 'Suck, little one,' he whispered, 'suck the cow, because your mother has left you.' A few moments later smacking sounds were heard. And the rain continued to drip...drip...drip, monotonously. CHAPTER VI The announcement that the railway was to be built in the spring caused a great stir in the village. The strangers who went about buying land from the peasants were the sole topic of conversation at the spinning-wheels on winter evenings. One poor peasant had sold his barren gravel hill, and had been able to purchase ten acres of the best land with the proceeds. The squire and his wife had returned in December, and it was rumoured that they were going to sell the property. The squire was playing the American organ all day long, as usual, and only laughed when the people timidly asked him whether there was any truth in the report. It was the lady who had told her maid in the evening how gay the life in Warsaw would be; an hour later the bailiff's clerk, who was the maid's sweetheart, knew of it; early the next morning the clerk repeated it to the bailiff and to the foreman as a great secret, and by the afternoon all the employees and labourers were discussing the great secret. In the evening it had reached the inn, and then rapidly spread into the cottages and to the small town. The power of the little word 'Sale' was truly marvellous.