“To-morrow, if you like!—No, on Saturday, when we have put up the banns; we shall then go straight to town. After all: ‘A goat dies once, and then—Never again!’” “Come hither, Yagna, daughter dear!” She called to the girl, whom the Voyt was pushing towards the bar, while telling her something that made her laugh loud. “Yagna, Matthias here will settle on you those six roadside acres of his.” “Many thanks,” she murmured, and offered him her hand. “Drink ye all to Yagna, most sweet Yagna!” They drank, and Matthias put his arm round her waist to lead her to the other guests assembled; but she slipped away, and ran to her brothers, who were talking and drinking with Ambrose. In the tavern, the din was ever growing louder and louder, as more people dropped in. Many, hearing voices, had come in to know what was going forward: some, too, to get a drink for nothing. Even the blind old man, led by his dog, was there in a good place, where all could see him; and he now listened and now said prayers aloud; so loud that Dominikova, hearing him, gave him some vodka, a morsel to eat, and a few kopeks besides. The carouse went on; and soon, as is customary on such occasions, everybody was dear friend and own brother to everybody else. The only silent one was the Jew. To and fro he glided, ever setting more and more spirits and bottles of beer before his guests, and scoring up everything with chalk behind the door. Boryna, beside himself with joy, took dram after dram, urged his guests to drink, talked as he had seldom in his life been heard to talk, and was incessantly coming round to Yagna, offering her dainties, stroking her beautiful face, and taking her into some dusky corner, with his arm round her. Very soon Dominikova saw it was high time to go home, and called her sons to set out with her. Simon was quite fuddled now; so when she spoke, he set his girdle straight, smote the table with his fist, and cried out: “Out upon it! I am a farmer, I! Who cares to go, let him go. If I choose to stay and drink, I will.—More vodka, you Jew!” “Be silent, Simon! Oh, be silent: else she will trounce you!” So Andrew moaned, with maudlin tears in his eyes, pulling his brother by the coat. He, too, was very far gone. “Boys!” she hissed, threateningly, “home! come home!” “I am a farmer. I! If I choose to stay, Lo, I stay, and drink.... I have enough of Mother’s rule.... Thwart me, and I turn you out! Down with it all!” But the old woman then struck him such a blow in the chest that he staggered and was sobered forthwith. Andrew took him out into the road, after placing his cap on his head. But the cold air overcame Simon once more: he only took a few steps forwards, then tottered, caught at the hedge, and fell down, shrieking and groaning. “’Sdeath! I am a farmer. The property is mine, and I drink, if I choose; and if I choose, I work!—Jew! more rum!—Thwart me, and I turn you out!”