“Well, there is Veronka, Stach’s daughter.” “A babbler, a gadabout, and with one hip deformed.” “But what about Thomas’s widow? She would do very well, I fancy.” “Three children, four acres, two heads of cattle, and an old sheepskin that poor Tom left her.” “Perhaps Ulisia, Adalbert’s daughter, who lives by the church?” “She might do for a single young man. The boy she has is now big enough to tend cattle. But Matthias has his own cowherd, and needs none.” “There are others yet to be married; only I seek someone suitable.” “But, wife, you have overlooked one who would be just the girl for him.” “Who is that?” “Why, Yagna, daughter of Dominik.” “To be sure; she had escaped my memory.” “A bouncing wench and tall; no fence but would break under her weight.” “Yagna!” repeated Boryna, who had been silently listening to this roll-call; “but they say she runs after men.” “Who has seen her? who knows? Gossips will gossip for gossiping’s sake and for envy,” cried the Voyt’s wife, hot in her defence. “Oh, I did not say she was that way, but it’s common talk. Well, now, I must be off.” He adjusted his girdle, put a live coal to his pipe, and pulled at it twice or three times. “And for what hour is the summons?” “For nine o’clock; so it stands in black and white in the District Court. You will have to rise early, if you are going there on foot.” “I shall take the filly and drive slowly. God be with you, and thanks for your good cheer and neighbourly advice.” “May God go with you, too. And think over what we have been telling you. Say but the word, and I will go to the old dame with vodka for you; and we shall have a wedding before Yule-tide is out.” Boryna answered not a word, but gave them a parting glance that might mean anything. “When old with young to wedlock fly, the devil is glad, for he profits thereby,” was the blind beggar’s reflection as he finished the mashed potatoes. Boryna walked homeward with slow steps, seriously meditating on the advice given him. At the Voyt’s he had carefully kept from letting it be known by any sign whatever that the idea was extremely to his liking. How could he? He was not a young whippersnapper, who would at the bare mention of marriage be ready to dance and shout for joy, but a grave, elderly farmer. Night had already enshrouded the earth. The stars glistened in the sky’s sombre depths like silver dewdrops, and all was still, save for an occasional bark of a dog or two. Faintly and far between, a few lights twinkled athwart the orchard trees, and now and then a breath of damp air blew up from the meadows, making the boughs wave slightly and their leaves whisper soft sounds.