“The manor allows them to come twice a week with billhooks and take as much dry wood as they can break off and carry in their bundles. The _gospodarze_ alone have the right to go to the forest with a cart, and use an ax on the trees.... We have often and often, Kuba and I, gone there together, and come back with a splendid tree in the cart! Kuba knew well how to fell a hornbeam, and conceal it so amongst the firewood faggots that even the keeper never caught him,” he said, not without pride. “Was he long in pain? Tell me all.” This Vitek did, nothing loath, Mr. Yacek putting some questions to him from time to time, now stopping short, gesticulating and exclaiming aloud. The lad thought his manner strange, could not make out what he meant, and was beginning to feel terror besides: it was getting so dark; the whole churchyard looked as though clad in a huge shroud, and murmuring with eerie voices. So he ran on in front and, with eyes starting from their sockets, looked about for the cross that marked Kuba’s grave. At last he found it, close to the fence, and near the scattered tombs of those slain in the insurrection—“the War”—where he had prayed on All Souls’ Day. “Here it is, and the name, written on the cross: James Soha.”—He spelt it out, following every one of the great white letters with his finger. “Yes, Roch wrote that, and Ambrose made the cross.” Mr. Yacek gave him a couple of _zloty_, and bade him run home. So he did, and scampered away, but stopped once to whistle for Lapa, and glance back to see what the stranger was about. “Lord! The brother to the Squire, kneeling at Kuba’s grave!” he ejaculated, stupefied. But night was coming on fast, and the trees, bending down over him, shook their heads in a weird way; so he went back to the village at a run, and by a short cut; only stopping near the church to take breath and look at the money he had safe in his closed fist. The dog caught up with him, and they went back at leisure to the cabin. Close to the pond he met Antek, returning from his work. The dog rushed to fawn on him, whined with delight and barked, and Antek caressed it kindly. “Good dog! good dog!—Whence come you, Vitek?” He told him of all, omitting the money given. “Come one of these days and see my children.” “Yes, yes; I have made a cart for little Peter, and another funny figure besides.” “Do not forget to bring them.—And here is something for yourself.” “I’ll come this very day, but first I must see if master is home yet.” “Is he out?” Antek inquired, with poorly assumed indifference. “At the miller’s, taking counsel with the Squire and a few more.” “Mistress at home?” he asked, lowering his voice. “Aye: busy at work. I’ll just look in there and be back.”