'Why didn't you tell me that Stasiek had been ill since the winter, and couldn't run without feeling queer?' 'Of course he wasn't well,' she said; 'but what good could you have done?' 'I couldn't have done anything, for if he was to die, he was to die.' The mother cried quietly. 'No, he couldn't escape; if he was to die he was to die; he must have felt it coming to-day during the storm, when he went about clinging to everyone...if only it had entered my head not to let him out of my sight...if I had only locked him up....' 'If his hour had come, he would have died in the cottage,' said the schoolmaster, departing. Already resignation was entering into the hearts of those who mourned for Stasiek. They comforted each other, saying that no hair falls from our heads without God's will. 'Not even the wild beasts die unless it is God's will,' said Slimak: 'a hare may be shot at and escape, and then die in the open field, so that you can catch it with your hands.' 'Take my case,' said Maciek: 'the cart crushed me and they took me to the hospital, and here I am alive; but when my hour has struck I shall die, even if I were to hide under the altar. So it was with Stasiek.' 'My little one, my comfort!' sobbed the mother. 'Well, he wouldn't have been much comfort,' said Slimak; 'he couldn't have done heavy farm work.' 'Oh, no!' put in Maciek. 'Or handled the beasts.' 'Oh, no!' 'He would never have made a peasant; he was such a peculiar child, he didn't care for farm work; all he cared for was roaming about and gazing into the river.' 'Yes, and he would talk to the grass and the birds, I have heard it myself,' said Maciek, 'and many times have I thought: "Poor thing! what will you do when you grow up? You'd be a queer fish even among gentlefolk, but what will it be like for you among the peasants?"' In the evening Slimak carried Stasiek on to the bed in the alcove; his mother laid two copper coins on his eyes and lit the candle in front of the Madonna. They put down straw in the room, but neither of them could sleep; Burek howled all night, Magda was feverish; Jendrek continually raised himself from the straw, for he fancied his brother had moved. But Stasiek did not move. In the morning Slimak made a little coffin; carpentering came so easily to him that he could not help smiling contentedly at his own work now and then. But when he remembered what he was doing, he was seized with such passionate grief that he threw down his tools and ran out, he knew not whither. On the third day Maciek harnessed the horses to the cart, and they drove to the village church, Jendrek keeping close to the coffin and steadying it, so that it should not rock. He even tapped, and listened if his brother were not calling.