The blacksmith laughed sneeringly. “Tilled by charity! One must not look a gift-horse in the mouth!” “You little rascals! If you don’t leave off, I’ll pull your ears!” the priest cried out to some urchins who were shying stones at partridges. The conversation ceased, for the organist began to chant, the smith accompanying him, and the women’s voices rising up in a dolorous chorus; and the litany floated across the land like a bevy of birds that, tired by a long flight, sink slowly down towards the ground. On they pushed through the green plots, and the men of Modlitsa, and even those farther away, stopped work to take off their caps or even kneel down in the fields, while the cattle raised their horned heads and lowed. They were about a furlong away from the third mound and the poplar road, when someone gave a loud shout: “There are peasants, coming out of the wood!” “Our own people, perchance!” “Our own! our own!” they cried, and there was a rush forward. “Stay!” the priest commanded severely. “God’s service first!” They obeyed indeed, but stamped on the ground with impatience. All now crowded together behind the priest, who, though he kept them back, hurried his steps himself. A breeze had sprung up, putting the tapers out, waving the banners, and making the rye, the brushwood, and the trees in bloom to bow before the procession as it passed. The people sang more loudly, and were almost breaking into a run, peeping the while between the roadside trees to make out the peasants’ white capotes. “They will not run away from you!” the priest said, reprovingly, for they were pressing close, treading on his heels. Hanka, who walked in the ranks of the goodwives, cried out aloud on perceiving the white capotes. And though without hope to behold Antek with the others, the sight filled her with the most intense delight. Yagna too, who was walking by her mother’s side, felt impelled to run forward. A fever of desire had taken hold of her, and her teeth chattered so that she could not clench them. Nor were the other women less eager to meet their loved ones. More than one of the lasses and lads could not hold back any more, and, though called back, ran on by a short cut to the road, their legs twinkling as they ran. The procession was soon at Boryna’s cross, just in front of the mound which formed the boundary between the Lipka territory and the Manor lands. And there, under the birches that overshadowed the cross—there they stood all—their goodmen—their sweethearts! On seeing the procession, they had uncovered their heads, and all the women could see the long-desired faces of their husbands and fathers and brothers and sons: emaciated and haggard, but shining with joy!