Katherina’s own face was radiant. “_Ya tibya lublue._” He loves her! Yes, he loves her. She herself had never known such love. “Simyonka loves Natalka!” The words filled her with dizzy joy. Then her face twisted with agony. But soon, very soon, he would look upon her with shame! At once! At her wedding! His father will ask Gavrelo, “What is your daughter’s portion?” And Gavrelo will say, “Nothing!” And the whole village will laugh and jeer. And little Natalka will bend her head with shame. And later, again, when he brings her home and the villagers and relatives gather about him, and he has nothing of hers that he could tell them she brought, that he could show-- She rose. Carried away by this thought, she no longer saw nor heard them outside, and she went staggering into the living room of the hut and fell upon her knees before the icon. “Gracious Mother Maria!” Her clumsy little body crumpled to the hard-trodden earth. “Blessed Mother Maria, can you hear me?” she pleaded in the crude way of Sabinka people. “Can you hear me? I have come to beg of you for Natalka. You know, Mother, I have never come to you for myself. But now I come for her. Mother,” her voice rose brokenly, “you know how hard my life has been. At home when I was young we were so poor. Often I was hungry for just bread. In marriage--Gavrelo is a strange person.” She fell silent a moment, her tears choking her. “The children were all I had. And when little Zacharka died I felt as if my heart would break, Mother. He was so sweet to look at with his golden hair and blue eyes. He would have been fifteen years old now. Oh, Mother! It is hard; it has been hard to see other little lads in the village and not see Zacharka. In the spring, when the sky is blue, and the fields are covered with grass, I miss little Zacharka. I miss him when from each home in the village a little lad goes forth with his father’s herd. The mothers wait for them all day, and in the evening they meet them at the gate. I, too, wait all day, but it is a strange little lad that brings our cattle home.” She lay still, sobbing brokenly. “It has been hard, Mother Maria. Yet, have I complained? But now I beg pity for Natalka.” Her hands clasped, her forehead pressed to the earth. “Pity, Mother, pity for Natalka!” The trees were in full leaf. The meadows were dotted with the first flowers. The wheat in the great field stood a foot high. It was Saturday at dusk. The cattle had long passed, and the dust they had stirred was laid. Swarms of tiny insects danced in the open spaces of the road. Far out frogs croaked at regular intervals. The air was warm and sweet with the breath of the flowers and the dew. The village seemed quietly at rest. Yet there was a silent stir--preparation for the morrow, the first wedding in Sabinka this spring.