“You, according to her.” “I’ll kill her for saying so! The miserable liar!” “Anyway, you will have to appear in court.” “I shall. God reward you for telling me this. I thought it was about her wages: but I have witnesses to prove that I have paid her. A plague on her! A scold, and a beggar into the bargain!—Dear me! one trouble after another! I shall never be able to stand all this. And the cow I have had to kill! And the field-work not yet done! And here I am, all alone, with no one in the world to lend a hand!” “‘Who for a wife that’s gone must weep is like a wolf-encompassed sheep,’” the old man observed. “I heard about the cow; they told me in the village.” “As to that, I have a claim against the manor. The forester, I understand, drove the cows away. She was the best of all I have—worth three hundred _zloty_—was with calf—ran so fast and got so blown that I had to kill her. No, I shall not let that pass: I’ll bring suit.” The Voyt, however, who was friendly to the manor, strove to calm Boryna: anger was always a bad counsellor, and he should beware of doing anything rash. Then, to change the subject, he said with a wink at his wife: “Man, you ought to marry, so as to get someone who would take care of the house.” “I say, is this a joke? Why, last Assumption Day I rounded my fifty-eighth year. What are you dreaming of? And she, too, scarcely cold in her grave yet!” “You just take a wife, one fit for your age, and all will be well with you again, Matthias,” said the Voyt’s wife, preparing to clear the table. “‘For, sure, a good and kindly wife is the crown of her husband’s life,’” added the blind man, groping for the dish which the woman had set before him. Boryna sat wondering why the thought had not occurred to him before. Certainly some woman or other was to be found, and any one would be better than none. “Some,” continued the old man as he ate, “are silly and speechless, some are quarrelsome, some pull the lads’ hair, and others are always dancing or running after music in taverns; but, anyhow, a man is better off with one than without.” “But what would people think of it?” objected Boryna. “Think? Will they give you back your cow or help you in anything, whatever they think?” the Voyt’s wife retorted with much heat. “Or warm your bed for you?” said the Voyt with a laugh. “There are so many lasses here that, when a man goes about the huts, he is as hot as coal in a fire.” “Ah! the reprobate! look at him! Whom is he hankering after now?” “Sophie, Gregory’s daughter, might do; a slim handsome girl and a good dowry, too.” “What does Matthias, the richest farmer here, want with a dowry?” “‘Of goods and lands and such, who ever has too much?’” queried the blind man. “No,” the Voyt decided, “Gregory’s girl is not for him—too young, too immature.” “Then Andrew’s daughter, Catharine,” was the next proposal made by the Voyt’s wife. “Already taken. Roch’s son, Adam, sent proposers to her yesterday.”