“I can scarce believe it,” she said, unwrapping the kerchief, and then the ribbon again. “God be with you, Yagna!” “How I thank you, Matthias!” He left her. Yagna once more unwrapped the things, and gloated over them. Then she wrapped them up both together, with a mind to run after him and give them back: for how could she accept such gifts from a stranger? But he was no longer in sight. So she walked along slowly, to seek her mother, secretly and fingering with intense pleasure the parcel hidden in her bosom. She was full of joy; her cheeks glowed red, and her white teeth flashed as she smiled. “Yagna! Pray give some aid to a poor creature. Your people are good, true Christians! I’ll say a Hail Mary for your departed.... O Yagna!” Yagna, thus recalled to herself, looked to see who it was that spoke, and saw Agatha, who was sitting close to the monastery wall, upon a bundle of straw: for the mud was there more than ankle-deep. Coming to a standstill, she fumbled in her dress for some coppers; and Agatha, overjoyed to have met someone of her village, began to ask her what was going on at Lipka. “Are all the potatoes in?” “To the very last.” “Anything new at the Klembas’?” “What, they have sent you away to beg ... and you still care about them?” “Sent me away? That they did not; I went by myself, for it was needful. And I care about them, because they are my kinsfolk.” “And what are you doing now?” “Going from church to church, from hamlet to hamlet, from fair to fair; and, as guerdon for my prayers, the good people give me, here a corner to sleep in, there a morsel to feed me, and at times a copper or two. The people are good; they will not let a poor creature starve, not they!” She broke off, and asked, with some hesitation: “Do you know if all the Klembas are in good health?” “They are; and how are you?” “Oh, my health is nothing to boast of. Always a pain in my chest; and when I take cold, I spit hot blood. I shall not last long, no!—If I can but hold out till spring, I will go back to the village to die among my own people. I ask naught else of our Lord.... Naught else.” “Say a prayer for Father’s soul?” Yagna whispered, slipping some coins into her hand. “That will be for all the holy souls in purgatory; for as it is, I always pray for all those I know, living and dead.—But ... Yagna!... Have they sent no one to you with vodka?” “Yes.” “And you would drink back to none?” “To none,” she replied briefly. “God be with you, and come next spring to see us.” And she went to rejoin her mother, whom she perceived at some distance with the organist. Boryna was returning to Antek, but slowly, both on account of the crowds, and because the thought of Yagna was haunting him. Before he saw his son, however, the blacksmith met him. They greeted one another, and walked on side by side without speaking. At last: “Are you going to settle with me, or not?” the smith began, in no friendly voice. Boryna was up in arms at once.