He was right. The Voyt came in and, standing on the threshold, threw his whip into a corner and shouted: “Wife! Supper! I’m starved. How are you, Matthias? And you, old man, what do you need?” “I have come to ask about the affair I am to appear in to-morrow.” “I can wait your pleasure, sir. Put me in the passage; it shall be well with me; or if, because I am old, you set me by the fire, there I shall sit. Give me to eat of your potatoes or a morsel of bread, and I shall pray for you just as much as if you gave me a kopek or more.” “Sit down. You may sup here and spend the night, too, if you will.” And the Voyt sat down to a steaming dish of newly-mashed potatoes, made savoury with abundant driblets of fried bacon; a platter of sour milk standing close by. “Take a seat, Matthias, and share what we have,” said the Voyt’s wife cordially as she laid a third spoon on the table. “No, thanks. When I got home from the forest I ate a generous supper.” “Take a spoonful at least; the evenings are getting long.” “‘Plenty of prayers, plenty of food, Never does harm, always does good,’” the beggar put in sententiously. Boryna stood upon ceremony for a time, but at last the smell of the bacon in his nostrils got the better of him. So he sat down and began to eat, but slowly, daintily, and with great decorum. The blind man’s dog now began to move about uneasily and to whine impatiently for food. “Be quiet, Burek! The farmer folk are at supper now. You will get your share, don’t fear.” So spoke the blind man soothingly as he was warming his hands at the fire and inhaling the savoury odour. When the first pangs of hunger had been appeased, the Voyt, turning to Matthias, said: “Eva has, it appears, lodged a complaint against you.” “She! Oh, well, I declare! Not paid her, indeed? As there is a God, I have—aye, and beyond what she deserved. Yes, and when she had that baby I willingly sent the priest a sack of oats for her at the christening!” “But she says it was you who——” “Oh, but that’s preposterous! What, is she mad? Is she crazy?” “Oho! Old as you are, you are still an able craftsman!” And the Voyt and his wife burst out laughing. “To be old,” put in the blind man, “is to know; to know is to be able.” “But she lies like a gipsy! I never touched her, the wench! She was homeless; an outcast who begged and prayed us to take her in—just for the food and a corner to sleep in, because winter was near. I was loath to do it, but my wife that’s dead thought we had better. She could do things in the house. Why should we hire a servant when one was ready at hand? I did not like this—another mouth to feed, and in winter, too, when there’s always less to be done. But my wife said: ‘Don’t worry; she knows how to weave cloth and canvas. I’ll see to it that she is not idle, and there will always be some work or other for her.’ Well, she stayed on with us and got strong; and presently she was with child. But the question is, who was the man?”