“And now we remain like the very last of hired servants—like _Dziads_—without one drop of milk, without one crumb of comfort! This—this is what my share of my own house and home have earned for me.—Merciful heavens! Other men work as hard as oxen, and bring something home; and this man sells the very last thing—the cow, my marriage portion, all I had from my family!” she went on in uncontrollable excitement. “Being a fool and without understanding, you may bellow at your ease.—Here’s money for you. Pay what you owe, buy what you need, keep the rest.” He pushed the roubles over to her, but, taking five from the heap, put them into his pocket-book. “And why take so much money with you?” “Why? I am not going to start off with nothing but my staff.” “Start off? and whither?” “Anywhither, if it be but away from here. I will seek work, and not rot here in Lipka.” “_Away?_ A dog is barefoot everywhere—‘Where’er the poor man goes, the wind against him blows.’—Ah! and I am to stay here alone, say? Am I?” And, raising her voice, she approached him with a threatening mien, not knowing what she did; he meanwhile took no notice of her, occupied as he was in taking down his sheepskin, putting his girdle on, and looking for his cap. “Work for the peasants here? That I will not,” he declared. “No: though I should starve; I will not!” “The organist is in want of a thresher.” “That great man!—A calf who bleats in the choir, and is good for naught else; whose eyes are always on the farmers’ money-bags, and who lives on what he gets out of them by begging or by lying!” “‘Who has no goodwill shirks his duty still!’” “Enough! You’re saucy!” he cried out in anger. “When do I say a word to oppose you? You always do as you please, and I am nowhere!” “I shall apply at the manors,” he said presently, in a gentler tone. “I mean to inquire about service to be had, and perhaps may get something by Christmas. But I would rather be a common ploughman elsewhere than rot here, where the wrong done me stares me in the face at every step. That I cannot bear. I have enough of it—enough of being pitied by some, and looked upon by others as a mangy dog!” As he spoke, he waxed angrier and more highly wrought and Hanka, seized with terror, stood petrified and motionless: she had never yet seen him in such a state. “Farewell. I shall return in a few days.” “Antek!”—The word was a despairing scream. “What would you?” He turned upon the threshold. “Do you grudge me even a friendly parting word?” “Is it caresses you mean? Oh, I am in no mood for them just now.” And he went out, slamming the door. Uttering a hissing sound between his shut teeth, he walked on quickly through the snow with his staff. The crisp surface crunched underfoot. He looked round at the cabin. Hanka stood against the wall, dissolved in tears; through the other window, Veronka was watching them.