“A pity; that would have been still better. But we shall word it so that it may seem both that the cow died, and that the boy had an illness. Let the manor-folk pay!” “Surely. I want nothing but justice.” “I’ll draw up your complaint instantly.—Franka, you sluggard!” he cried, kicking the woman on the mattress so hard that she lifted up her tousled head. “Fetch us vodka and something to eat!” “I have not one kopek, Gutek; and they’ll give us nothing on trust, you know,” she grumbled, and, rising from her disorderly couch, yawned and stretched herself. She was a big woman, with a drunkard’s face, bruised and bloated, but the thin reedy voice of a baby. The scrivener set to work, with noisy pen scratching the paper. He puffed at his cigar, blowing the smoke into Boryna’s face, as the latter was looking on. Now and then he paused to rub his freckled hands and turn his haggard pimply face towards Franka. He wore a great black moustache; his front teeth were broken, his lips livid. The complaint was soon made out. It cost a rouble, and another for the stamp; and he agreed to present it at the court for three more. Boryna willingly allowed the expenses incurred, feeling sure that the manor would have to pay them, with heavy damages besides. “There must be justice in the world!” he cried, on departing. “If we don’t win in the Communal Court, we shall try the Assembly; if not there, why then, the District Court, and then the Judgment Chamber: I won’t give in.” “Why should I abandon what is mine?” he said, with fierce obstinacy. “And to whom? To those manor-folk, owners of forests and of fields without end? No!” Such thoughts were filling his mind, as he went forth into the market-place: but just as he passed the capmakers’ stalls, he met with Yagna. There she stood, with one dark-blue cap on her head, cheapening another. “See here, Matthias! this ‘yellow one’[15] would have me believe this is a good cap: but no doubt he is lying.” ----- Footnote 15: _Yellow one._—A nickname sometimes given to Jews by peasants.—_Translator’s Note._ “A very nice cap. Is’t for Andrew?” “It is: Simon’s is already bought.” “Will it not be too small for him?” “His head is just the size of mine.” “What a well-favoured stable-boy you would make!” “Ah! shouldn’t I?” she exclaimed, with a jaunty air, and cocking her cap on one side. “I’d take you to my service directly!” “Only my terms might prove much too high.” She laughed. “For some, perhaps; not for me.” “But I’d do no work in the fields.” “Oh, I would do the work for you, Yagna!” he whispered, and the look he darted at her was so passionate that she shrank back in confusion, and paid for the cap without bargaining. “Have you sold your cow?” he asked her, after a time, when he had become more master of himself, and overcome the sensation which had so suddenly gone to his head, like strong vodka.