“Into my hut—Paches’ sow?—Mother, what did the honourable squire say?” “Why, Bartek, he asked you about the pig that followed you to our hut.” “Oh, I know ... I know now. I pray the honourable court to excuse me and listen to what I have said already and repeat now.—It was a pig and not a sow; a white pig, with a black patch about the tail ... or somewhat lower down.” “Well, but how did it get into your hut?” “Into my hut? I will tell you all exactly as it took place, and show the right worshipful court and the people here assembled that I am innocent, and that the woman Dominik is a lying gipsy, a cursed and pampered shrew.” “A lying.... May the Most Holy Mother grant you be struck dead unshriven!” the woman ejaculated, with a deep sigh, and a glance at an image of the Blessed Virgin that hung in a corner. Then she clenched her bony fist, shook it at him, and hissed: “O you swine-stealer! you villain, you!” and she opened her talons as though about to claw him. Here Bartek’s wife interfered, screaming: “Would you then? would you hurt him, you jade, you witch, you tyrant of your sons?” “Be quiet,” ordered the judge. “Hold your tongues when the judge is speaking, or I’ll turn you both out of the place!” Yacek chimed in, holding up his trousers; for the braces had given way. Silence was now restored, and the two old women, who had all but flown at each other’s throats, now stood mute, though looking daggers and breathing hate. “Speak now, Bartek, and tell us the whole truth.” “Yes, the truth, the truth itself, as clear as crystal. As if I were at confession.—It was in this wise....” “Look well into your head,” his wife Magda put in, “lest you should forget anything.” “I will do so, Magda.—It was in this wise. I was walking along (it was in spring, and I was close to Boryna’s clover-field, just beyond the Wolf-Hole).... So I walked along, saying my prayers, for night was coming on.—Now, on my way, I heard ... was it a voice, or not? I wondered. Did it grunt, or not?... Behind me I looked, but saw nothing: all was still. Was it the devil after me?... I went on my way, shuddering with fear, and said a Hail Mary.... Again—a grunt! So I said to myself it was only a sow, or it might be a pig.... But I walked a few steps aside into the clover; and what did I see? Something following me. I stopped, it stopped. A long white thing, low on its legs; its eyes blazed like a wildcat’s or a devil’s.... I crossed myself; and having gooseflesh, mended my pace. For I knew not what thing it could be, prowling thus by night. Also, as all men know, the Wolf’s Hole is a haunted place.” “Yes, that’s a truth,” his wife observed; “last year Sikora was passing there at night, and something took him by the throat, threw him down, and beat him so, that he kept his bed for a fortnight.”