“Two handfuls of carded flax, and four eggs.—And he said that, if we wished, he would let us have a wagonful of oat-straw, and wait till summer for payment. But I did not accept: why should we take aught from him? And moreover, we have a right to your father’s pasturage. We had only two cartloads—far too few for so many acres....” “I will not remind him of it, and I forbid you to do so. For the spinning you do, take the oat-straw from the organist. If you will not, then sell all our livestock. So long as I live, never will I ask my father for anything whatsoever.—Do you understand?” “I do, and shall apply to the organist.” “Your work, together with mine, will perhaps suffice.—Hanka, no weeping here: they see us!” “I am not weeping.—Antek, pray ask the miller for half a hectolitre of barley to grind: if we bought it ready ground, it would cost more.” “Good. I will tell him to-day, and stay on here one of these evenings to see it ground.” Hanka left him, and he remained, smoking cigarettes in silence. They were just then talking of the Squire of Vola, and of his brother. “His name is Yacek: I knew him well!” Bartek exclaimed, coming into the room. “Then of course you know he has returned from foreign parts.” “No, indeed. I thought he had died long ago.” “He is here; arrived a fortnight back.” “Yes, he has come, but—so folk say—not quite in his right mind. He refuses to live at the Manor, and has gone to dwell in the pine-forest, where he does everything for himself—cooking, sewing, and all. Everyone wonders at him. In the evening he plays on his violin: they often and often meet him on the roads near certain graves, where he sits and plays tunes.” “I was told he goes from hamlet to hamlet, asking people for news of one Kuba.” “Kuba?—Many a dog is named Tray!” “He gives no surname, but seeks the man Kuba, who carried him off a battle-field, it seems, and saved his life once.” “There was a Kuba at our farm who went out with the nobles in the last insurrection; but he’s dead,” Antek observed, rising to his feet; for Matthew was already shouting outside: “Come out, you: are ye to make dinner last till teatime?” Antek, much ruffled, rushed out, and cried: “Do not spend breath in vain, we all can hear you!” “He is too full of meat, and eases his belly with shouting!” was Bartek’s remark; and someone added: “The noise he makes is but to curry favour with the miller.” Matthew went on grumbling: “They must dine and enjoy long chats at their ease,—must they not?—these grand fellows, these big farmers, who haven’t one whole pair of breeches!” “Take that, Antek; that’s for you!” “Hold your peace, and let not your tongue clack so, or I’ll cut it out for you!” Antek had raised his voice, ready now for anything. “And never a word more about farmers!”