A girl was going home in the same direction, but by another path, driving a sow with its little ones and singing in a shrill voice: “Oh, go not near the wagon, Nor with its axle play, Nor let a young man kiss thee, Whatever he may say!” “Listen to that idiot howling as if she was being skinned alive!” CHAPTER II A good many people had gathered by this time in Boryna’s yard, which, surrounded on three sides by farm buildings, was separated from the road by an orchard on the fourth. Several women were offering advice and eyeing with amazement the very large red-and-white cow that lay wallowing on a heap of manure just before the byre. An old dog, somewhat lame and with hairless patches along its sides, was now sniffing at her and barking, now running to the fence and driving back into the road such boys and girls as had climbed up and were gazing curiously into the yard, and now approaching a sow that lay near the hut, suckling four white little pigs and gently grunting. Hanka ran straight to the cow on arriving, and at once began to stroke her face and head. “Poor, poor dear Red-and-White!” she cried, with copious tears and many lamentations. From time to time the women would recommend her a new remedy for the sick animal. Now they would pour brine down its throat, now milk into which wax from a consecrated taper had been dropped. One advised soap dissolved in whey, and another suggested bleeding. But the cow did not benefit from any of these nostrums. At times she would lift up her head, and, as though imploring for help, low till her beautiful large eyes, with pink-tinged whites, grew dim and misty. Then, quite exhausted with pain, she would bow her horned head and put forth her tongue to lick Hanka’s hand. “May not Ambrose be able to do something?” was one woman’s suggestions. “Yes, yes, he knows a good deal about sicknesses.” “Run to him, Yuzka. He has just rung the Angelus, so is likely to be somewhere about the church. Good God! when Father comes home, how furious he will be! And yet,” Hanka sobbed, “’tis no fault of ours!” She then sat down on the threshold of the cow-house and bared her full white bosom to the babe that was wailing for food, meanwhile watching the suffering animal with keen apprehension and, expecting Boryna’s arrival, casting uneasy glances past the fence. In a few minutes Yuzka returned, announcing the arrival of Ambrose, who came almost as soon himself. He was close to a hundred years old, one-legged, and walked with the aid of a staff, but still as straight as an arrow. His face, dry and wrinkled as a potato in spring, was clean-shaven, but scarred; his hair as white as milk, with long wisps falling on his forehead and hanging down to his shoulders. He went straight to the cow and looked her over very carefully. “Oho!” he said, “you will have fresh meat presently, I see.”