“Yes,” sobbed Filipka, “they have helped—but whom? Why, the landowners ... the wealthy men only!” “For us, pestilent creatures, no one has cared or thought at all!” “No, not even for a furrow or two, driven through our potato-plots!” they muttered gloomily. “But, good women, they are leaving now ... and ... yes, something will be done for you. Truly, I know it is hard ... your husbands are in jail with the others.... Yes, I assure you, something shall be done!” “And for that something,” cried Gulbasova, “how long are we to wait? If we cannot plant our potato-patches, we may as well seek a rope at once!” “But something shall be done, I tell you! Ye shall have my horses—aye, even for one whole day ... but pray do not tire the poor beasts.... And I will be the miller too: and the Borynas may also give help perhaps....” “Perhaps!” roared Kozlova. “While the grass grows, the steed starves!—Come away, women!—Everything is for the farm-owners, and we, miserable starvelings, may eat stones and drink our tears!—This shepherd only cares for the sheep he can shear: we have no wool for him!”—But here the priest stopped his ears and took to flight. They stood huddled together, sore and angry. Roch did all he could to pacify them, promising sincerely he would procure assistance, and succeeded in getting them away from the road, along which the friendly helpers were now going home in their noisy carts, with cries of gratitude from every threshold. “May our Lord be your reward!” “Health and happiness!” “We’ll be quits some day!” “Remember and see us every Sunday: we’re kinsfolk now!” “Greet your parents! Bring your wives when you come!” “Should you ever need aught, count on us!” “God prosper you, dear ones!” So they cried, caps and hands waving. The lasses and all the children escorted them out of the village. It was evening now, and the after-glow was still red upon the waters here and there; silence came down with the mists of night, but the frogs fell a-croaking in concert. They went with them as far as the crossways, and parted from them with shouts and laughter, one of the girls striking up a song as they drove off. “Yasio, will you wed me now? Father’s wagon comes, I trow, Rattling on the way— Da dana! Rattling on the way!” To which the lads answered, turning round in the carts: “Now, ’tis cold and we should freeze; Whom can frosty kisses please? Let us wed in May! Da dana! Let us wed in May!” And the fresh young voices echoed over the dewy grass and rolled on and afar. CHAPTER VII “Our boys are returning!” The news came like a flash of lightning, and spread through Lipka like wildfire. Were they, truly? And if so, when? No one knew.