They seated themselves, some on benches, others on chests. Klemba’s sons, too, brought in tree-stumps from the yard for the boys to sit down upon, and there was room enough for all. The hut, though of no height, was very large, built in the old style, most likely by Klemba’s great-great-grandfather, and a hundred and fifty years old or more. It was already tottering with age, leaning slantwise like a stooping old man; in places, the thatched eaves almost touched the hedge beneath, and had to be propped up. After a time, the talk grew louder and more general, while the spindles twirled and whirled and hummed on the floor, and a spinning-wheel buzzed here and there. Klemba’s sons were four: tall slender striplings, with budding moustaches. They sat close to the door, engaged in twisting ropes of straw. The other young fellows were sitting in corners, smoking cigarettes, grinning and joking with the lasses, and making them giggle till the room rang again. At last Roch, whom they had long expected, came in, followed by Matthew. “Is it windy still?” someone asked. “No wind at all; the weather will change.” “It surely is going to thaw,” Klemba added; “we hear the forest moaning.” Roch, who now taught a class at the Klembas’, and lodged and boarded there, sat down to eat at a separate table. Matthew greeted some of the company, but did not so much as glance at Yagna, whom he made out he had not seen, although she was straight in front of him. At that she smiled faintly, with her eyes fixed on the entrance door. “Well, it has been blowing all day long, Heaven preserve us!” Sohova said. “Some women have crept back from the forest, half dead; and they say Hanka and her father, who were among them, are missing.” “Ah, yes,” Kobusova grunted. “‘Wherever the poor man goes, the wind against him blows.’” “Alas! Hanka has come down indeed....” Ploshkova was beginning to say, but stopped and talked of something else on seeing how red Yagna had turned. “Has not Yagustynka been here?” Roch inquired. “She is not wanted: our company takes no pleasure in slandering and backbiting.” “A wicked hag she is! This very day she set the Voyt and the Soltys’ wives so by the ears that they fell to railing and would have fought, had not the company prevented them.” “That’s because they let her talk as she pleases.” “And there’s no one to pay her out for her spiteful words and mischief-making.” “Yet all know what she is: why listen to her snarls?” “True: we never know when she is lying and when not.” “They let her, because they all enjoy hearing her talk against someone else,” Ploshka’s wife concluded. Teresa, a soldier’s wife, here called out: “Let her say one word against me! She would pay it dear!” Whereupon Balcerek’s wife said to her, sarcastically: “Why, is she not telling tales against you in the village all day long?”