Then Slimak appeared on the hill, holding Stasiek in his arms. The boy's head was resting on his shoulder, his right arm hung limply. Dirty water was flowing from them both. Slimak's lips were livid, his eyes wide open. Jendrek ran towards him, slipped on the boggy hillside, scrambled up and shouted in terror: 'Daddy...Stasiek...what....' 'He's drowned!' 'You are mad,' cried the boy; 'he's sitting on your arm!' He pulled Stasiek by the shirt, and the boy's head fell over his father's shoulder. 'You see!' whispered Slimak. 'But he was in the backyard a minute ago.' Slimak did not answer, he supported Stasiek's head and stumbled forward. Slimakowa was standing in the passage, shading her eyes and waiting. 'Well, what has he been up to now?... What's this? Has it fallen on Stasiek again? Curse those Swabians and their singing!' She went up to the boy and, taking his hand, said in a trembling voice: 'Never mind, Stasiek, don't roll your eyes like that, never mind! Come to your senses, I won't scold you. Magda, fetch some water.' 'He has had more than enough water,' murmured Slimak. The woman started back. 'What's the matter with him? Why is he so wet?' 'I have taken him out of the pool by the river.' 'That little pool?' 'The water was only up to my waist, but it did for him.' 'Then why don't you turn him upside down? Maciek, take him by the feet...oh, you clumsy fellows!' The labourer did not stir. She seized the boy herself by the legs. Stasiek struck the ground heavily with his hands; a little blood ran from his nose. Maciek took the child from her and carried him into the cottage, where he laid him down on the bench. They all followed him except Magda, who ran aimlessly round the yard and then, with outstretched arms, on to the highroad, crying: 'Help...help, if you believe in God!' She returned to the cottage, but dared not go in, crouched on the threshold with her head on her knees, groaning: 'Help...if you believe in God.' Slimak dashed into the alcove, put on his sukmana and ran out, he did not know whither; he felt he must run somewhere. A voice seemed to cry to him: 'Father...father...if you had put up a fence, your child would not have been drowned!' And the man answered: 'It is not my fault; the Germans bewitched him with their singing.' A cart was heard rattling on the highroad and stopped in front of the cottage. The schoolmaster got out, bareheaded and with his rod in his hand. 'How is the boy?' he called out, but did not wait for an answer and limped into the cottage. Stasiek was lying on the bench, his mother was supporting his head on her knees and whispering to herself: 'He's coming to, he's a little warmer.' The schoolmaster nudged Maciek: 'How is he?' 'What do I know? She says he's better, but the boy doesn't move, no, he doesn't move.'