Sobieska stayed for nine months, then one night she escaped to the village, her longing for the public-house having become too strong. Her place was taken by 'Silly Zoska'[1] for another six months. Slimakowa was always hoping that the work would grow less, and she would be able to dispense with a servant. However, 'Silly Zoska' stayed for six years, and when she went into service at the manor the work at the cottage had not grown less. So the gospodyni engaged a fifteen-year-old orphan, Magda, who preferred to go into service, although she had a cow, a bit of land, and half a cottage of her own. She said that her uncle beat her too much, and that her other relations only offered her the cold comfort that the more he applied the stick the better it would be for her. [Footnote: Zoska: diminutive of Sophia.] Up till then Slimak had chiefly done his own farm work and rarely hired a labourer. This still left him time to go to work at the manor with his horses, or to carry goods from the town for the Jews. When, however, he was summoned more and more often to the manor, he found that the day-labourer was not sufficient, and began to look out for a permanent farm-hand. One autumn day, after his wife had been rating him severely for not yet having found a farmhand, it chanced that Maciek Owczarz,[1] whose foot had been crushed under a cart, came out of the hospital. The lame man's road led him past Slimak's cottage; tired and miserable he sat down on a stone by the gate and looked longingly into the entrance. The gospodyni was boiling potatoes for the pigs, and the smell was so good, as the little puffs of steam spread along the highroad, that it went into the very pit of Maciek's stomach. He sat there in fascination, unable to move. [Footnote 1: Pronunciation approximately: Ovcharge. _Maciek_ (pron. Machik): Matthew.] 'Is that you, Owczarz?' Slimakowa asked, hardly recognizing the poor wretch in his rags. 'Indeed, it is I,' the man answered miserably. 'They said in the village that you had been killed.' 'I have been worse off than that; I have been in the hospital. I wish I had been left under the cart, I shouldn't be so hungry now.' The gospodyni became thoughtful. 'If only one could be sure that you wouldn't die, you could stay here as our farm-hand.' The poor fellow jumped up from his seat and walked to the door, dragging his foot. 'Why should I die?' he cried, 'I am quite well, and when I have a bit to eat I can do the work of two. Give me barszcz[1] and I will chop up a cartload of wood for you. Try me for a week, and I will plough all those fields. I will serve you for old clothes and patched boots, so long as I have a shelter for the winter.' [Footnote 1: Pronunciation approximately: barsht. The national dish of the peasants; it is made with beetroot and bread, tastes slightly sour, and is said to be delicious.] Here Maciek paused, astonished at himself for having said so much, for he was silent by nature.