“But his children—they will curse us, sure.” “All shall be well: I the Voyt tell you so.” And they walked into Dominikova’s hut. The room was lighted, and carefully swept; they were expected. The messengers “praised God”; then, greeting in turn everyone present, took seats close to the fire-place, and opened the conversation. “The weather is cold; there seems to be a frost at hand.” “Very likely; it is not springtime, nor near it!” “Have you gathered in all the cabbages?” “All but a few that we cannot get in just now,” the old dame replied indifferently, casting her eyes on Yagna, who was near the window, making up skeins of spun flax, and who looked so comely that the Voyt, a man still in the golden time of life, cast an eager glance at her, before he said: “As the ways are foul and miry, and the night-air is dank, I and Simon the Soltys here thought we would enter your dwelling on our way. And seeing that you have received us with a kind and friendly welcome, perchance, Mother, we may even drive a bargain with you.” “A bargain may be driven only when there is something about which to drive it.” “Spoken truly, Mother, but that we have found already in your house: livestock, and of the best.” “Well,” she cried, in good humour, “let us bargain, then.” “We would fain, for instance, bargain for a heifer of yours.” “Oho! that will be no small thing, and ye shall not lead her away with the first rope at hand!” “As to that, we have for her a hallowed silver cord, and such that none can break it, he be strong as ten.—Well, how much, Mother?” And he pulled the flask of rum out of his pocket. “How much?—Hard to say! She is young, will be nineteen in spring: good and hard-working. She might yet remain a year or two with her dam.” “Years without offspring, Mother; barren years!” “Ah,” Simon whispered, “were she other than she is, she might have offspring, even should she stay with her dam!” The Voyt gave vent to a loud laugh. The old woman’s eyes flashed angrily, and she made answer on the spot: “Seek another, then! Mine can wait.” “She can; but we can find nowhere another so beautiful, or of so good a breed.” “Then what do you say?” “I who speak am the Voyt: so believe what I tell you.”—He took out a glass, wiped it on the skirt of his capote, filled it with rum, and said gravely: “Pay good heed, Dominikova, to what I say now. I am in office. A bird on the bough may chirp and twitter, and is gone: my word is not thus.—Simon too: all here know who he is; no man of straw, but a husbandman, the father of a family, and our Soltys! Mark well, then, who we are that come to you, and with what intention; mark this well.” “I do so, Peter, and most carefully.” “Now you, being a wise woman, must therefore know that, sooner or later, Yagna will surely leave your house for her own, as the Lord hath ordained. Parents breed up their children, not for themselves, but for the public weal.” “Ah, Mother, ’tis true, ’tis true!