“Boryna?” She smiled a crafty smile. “No, someone yet mightier. I mean—no: time will show, and you will see.—Vitek! Drive that dog away: it barks and barks till my ears are aching. And drive those boys away too: they will be breaking the panes, or doing some mischief.” Vitek rushed out with a stick. The dog barked no more. But there were cries without, and the noisy footfalls of a crowd of flying urchins. He drove them into the road, and ran back, bent double to escape a shower of missiles that assailed him. Roch showed himself in the shade at the corner of the yard. “Vitek, wait a little. Call thou Ambrose; say I want him very urgently indeed, and am awaiting him in the porch.” It was only after some time that Ambrose appeared, and in a detestable humour. His supper had been interrupted, and at the very best dish of all—sucking-pig with peas. “What? what? Is the church on fire?” “Do not raise your voice so. Come to Kuba: I fear he is dying.” “Oh, let him die, then, and not prevent folk from eating their supper! I was with him only this very evening, and told him he would have to go to the hospital, and get his leg cut off, and he would be well in a trice.” “You told him that?—Oh, then I understand.... I—I think he has cut off his own leg!” “Jesu Maria!—His—his own leg?” “Come instantly and look. I was going to sleep in the cow-byre, and had just entered the yard, when Lapa came barking to me, and jumping, and pulling me by my capote. I could not make out what it wanted; but it ran forward, sat down on the stable threshold, and howled. Thither I went and saw Kuba lying in the doorway, half in, half out. I thought at first he had gone to get some air, and fainted on the way: so I carried him back to his pallet, and lit the lantern to get him some water; and it was then I saw he was bloodstained all over—deathly pale, and with blood pouring from his leg.” They went in, and Ambrose did his very best to bring Kuba to; but the poor fellow was extremely weak. He scarce drew breath, and a rattling sound came through his teeth, clenched so fast that, to give him a little water, they had to prize them open with a knife. The leg, which had been hewn off at the knee, and still dangled by a shred of skin, bled profusely. A great pool of gore lay on the threshold, close to a bloodstained ax and the grindstone, usually placed under the eaves, now fallen near the doorway. “Aye, he has cut it off himself. Afraid of the hospital.—A fool to think it would avail him: but dauntless and resolute all the same.—Good God! ... his own leg! ... it is simply incredible.... And the blood he has lost!” At this juncture, Kuba opened his eyes, and looked round him with returning consciousness. “Is it off?... I struck twice, but swooned——” he said feebly. “Any pain?” “None at all.... Weak as water ... but not ailing.” Ambrose dressed, washed and bound the leg with moist rags, Kuba lay still meanwhile, uttering not the least sound.