“As the sun caresses our weary earth, fatigued with fruit-bearing, so doth our Lord caress each soul, and make it forget the past winter of anguish and death. “Ah me! for in this world there is naught but trouble, and wailing, and woe! “And evil increases and multiplies, as doth the thistle in the woodlands! “All things are vain and to no purpose ... like tinder-wood, and like the bubbles which the wind maketh on the water and driveth away. “And there is no faith, nor hope, save in God alone!” CHAPTER X “I speak of this, both from the pulpit, and to every man in particular....”—The wind put an end to the rest of the sentence by blowing violently down the priest’s throat, making him fall into a fit of coughing. Antek was silent. The gale was growing fiercer, sweeping down the road, lashing the poplars, storming through them, and causing them to bend and moan and shriek aloud with rage. “Man, I have told you,” the priest went on to say, “that I myself took the mare down to the pond.... Blind as she is, she may go astray in some coppice, and perhaps break a leg.”—The very thought made him turn pale, and he continued looking under every tree, and seeking in every field. “Well, but she always went about freely.” “She knows well her way to the pond. Anyone might find a pail for her to drink from, and then turn her round: she would have come back by herself.... Valek!” he suddenly cried, thinking he saw someone among the poplars. “I saw Valek on our side of the pond; but that was before twilight set in.” “Gone perhaps to look for her: a little too late!... A mare twenty years old! She was foaled soon after I came here, and deserves to be fed for mercy’s sake.... As much attached as any man can be.... Good Heavens! if any harm should have befallen the poor beast!” “What on earth can happen?” Antek growled, in a surly mood. He had come to his Reverence to complain and get counsel; and he had been, not only reprimanded, but asked to seek the lost mare besides! No doubt the mare, so old and blind, deserved pity; but ought not a fellow-man to come first? “As to you, you are to master yourself; do you hear? And curse him not! he is your father!” “Oh, that,” said Antek very bitterly, “that I know well.” “It were a grievous sin and offence against God. And no blessing will there be for him that in anger raises his hand against his father, to break the commandment!” “I want justice: no more.” “No, ’tis revenge you seek.... Am I wrong?” Antek was at a loss for an answer. “Now I will tell you one thing more: ‘A docile calf, beyond all doubt, thrives, sucks much milk, and waxes stout.’” “‘Docile!’ The word sticks in my throat, I have so much of it. Shall I allow a man to do me every wrong in the world, simply because he is my father? Are children forbidden to seek justice for the wrong done?—Good God! if that’s the order of things, I had as lief bid it farewell, and go anywhere to get away from it.”