He then started off—as fast as he could, for he was very lame—along the road, bordered with orchards, and so strewn with yellow linden leaves, that he seemed to be walking over a carpet of motley fallow hue. The priest’s dwelling stood over against the church, at the bottom of a large garden, in which there were trees still laden with green pears or ruddy apples. All over the porch there grew a wild vine, the leaves of which were now of a rich crimson. Kuba stopped outside, embarrassed, and looking timidly in at the window and the passage. He durst not go in, and stayed by a large flower-bed, gay with roses, gilly-flowers, and asters, whose fragrance was very sweet. From the roof, green with moss, a flock of white doves flew down to settle on the porch. The priest was walking in his garden, saying his Office; but time and again he would shake an apple or a pear-tree. The fruit fell in a sounding shower, and he gathered them up in the skirts of his soutane. Kuba came up to him, and humbly embraced his knees. “What is it you say?—Ah, Kuba, Boryna’s man.” “Yes. I have brought your Reverence a few partridges.” “Thanks for your gift. Come this way.” Kuba accordingly entered the passage, but stopped at the threshold of the room. He feared to go in, and would only look through the open door at the various pictures that hung against the walls. He crossed himself, and breathed a devout sigh, so dazzled by the splendour he saw, that the tears started to his eyes, and he felt like saying prayers. Only he was afraid to kneel down upon the polished slippery floor, lest he should soil it. Presently the priest came out of the room, saying, as he handed him a _zloty_: “God reward you, Kuba; you are a good man and a godly one, who never miss church on Sundays.” Kuba again embraced the priest’s knees, so overwhelmed with bliss that he never knew how he got out and on to the road. “What, so much money for so few birds! How I love his Reverence!” he whispered, looking over the coins given him. He had more than once brought him birds, or a leveret, or mushrooms; but never had he received so much: at most, ten kopeks and a kind word. And now! O sweet Lord! a whole _zloty_!—And he had called Kuba into his room besides, and said such gentle words! Lord, Lord! “None but the priest has regard for poor people, no one else!—May God and the Blessed Virgin of Chenstohova grant him health!—Yes, a good man you are, and a kind one!—All the village, farm-hands and owners, only give me nicknames—call me Cripple, Good-for-Nothing, and Hanger-on. No one else speaks to me with the least kindness or compassion ... no one cares for me, but the horses and the dogs. And yet I am of an honest family: no foundling, but a farmer’s son.”