“He has been so savagely cudgelled by his son-in-law that his liver was ruptured.” “When? and on what account?” “On account of the land, of course. They have been at odds these six months, and to-day at noon they settled the matter.” “Why,” Yagna cried, “is there no judgment of the Lord upon such murderers?” “It will come,” her mother replied sternly, raising her eyes to the holy images. “Yes, but it will not bring the dead to life,” Ambrose muttered. “Sit down, and share our board.” “I have naught against that. I still can get through a dish—if only large enough.” “You think of nothing but jesting and drollery.” “I have nought else in the wide world: why should I care!” They seated themselves round the bench on which the two dishes—potatoes and sour milk—had been put, and set to eating with the usual deliberation and taciturnity, while Andrew saw to the pots’ being abundantly supplied. Only Ambrose now and again said something funny, at which he himself was the first to laugh. “Is his Reverence at home?” Dominikova asked towards the end of the meal. “Where else, in such weather? Yes, at home, poring over books like a Jew.” “A learned, a most learned man!” “And so good! The best man in the world,” Yagna chimed in. “Ah, yes. No harm in him.... Takes care of himself, and hurts nobody.” “That’s not the way to speak, Ambrose!” They had done. Yagna had gone with her mother to where the distaffs were fixed in front of the fire-place, while her brothers, as was their custom, cleared away and washed and set things in order. Dominikova had always ruled her sons with iron sway, and brought them up to do the duties of girls, that Yagna’s beautiful hands might not grow coarse. Ambrose lit his pipe, puffed up the chimney, and poked the embers, while adding some faggots, with furtive glances at the womanfolk. He was pondering over something and settling how to begin. “I fancy you must have had a proposal or two.” “More.” “Naturally. Yagna is as pretty as a picture. His Reverence says there is none so pretty in the whole village.” Yagna blushed scarlet with delight. “Did he say so?” quoth the old dame. “May the Lord grant him health! I have long, long been getting money together for a votive mass: I will have one sung directly.” “There’s somebody that would like to send you a proposal; but he is somewhat shy.” “A farm-hand?” Dominikova inquired, turning the spindle swiftly, till it fluttered about the floor. “A man with a household under him. Comes of a good stock, but is a widower.” “What, nurse another’s children? Not I.” “Fear nothing, Yagna; they are all well out of leading-strings.” “Young as she is, why should she accept an old man? Let her wait for a young one, if any such should come.”