“The Ploshkas!”—“The Sikoras!”—“Matthew!”—“Klemba!”—“Poor dear ones!”—“Our best-beloved!”—“O Lord Jesus!”—“O Holy Mother!”—Invocations, cries, whispers of love filled the air: every eye blazed with gladness, every hand was stretched forth, every mouth uttered shouts of exultation. But the priest silenced them all with a word, and, advancing towards the cross, he calmly read the prayer: “From fire....” But he could not read fast; he was unable to help looking very frequently aside to cast compassionate eyes on those poor worn faces. And when he had done, he sprinkled holy water over their bowed heads, and cried with all his might: “Praised be Jesus Christ!—O my dear people, how is it with you all?” They answered him in chorus, pressing round him as sheep round their shepherd, some kissing his hands, some embracing his knees. He strained each of them to his heart, stroked their thin cheeks, and asked about their health with the kindest attention. At last, quite wearied out, he sat down under the cross, wiping sweat from his brow and tears of fatherly love from his eyes. Around him, his people gave way to all the impetuosity of passionate tenderness. Then arose a tumult of laughter and of kissing, of happy tears, childlike prattle, words of fire, ardent whispers, and cries that burst out like songs from their rejoicing hearts. Women took their husbands apart, men stood swaying about in a ring of women and children, and speech and weeping rose in blissful confusion. All this lasted many minutes, and would have lasted longer, but that the priest saw it was getting late, and gave the signal to depart. So they went on to the last mound on the road by the forest, skirted with young junipers and pine-saplings. The priest intoned: “O most beloved Mother!...” which all took up as one man with a great cry, their hearts brimming over with bliss; and the hymn, like a spring tempest, burst forth and smote on the forest with darts of fiery jubilation. And the forest bent its head over the road, looking down on them, waving its tree-tops in the evening sun, but within its depths so hushed and calm that the very tappings of the woodpeckers were clearly heard, and the cuckoo’s call, and the twittering of the field-birds. In places, their way led them along upon the verge of the tilled lands; and the peasants, silently passing in serried ranks by the road-ditches, stooped down to cast their eyes over the green expanse; to gaze on the blossoming trees, all on fire in the sundown, and the long strips of cornland lying prostrate before them, and those fields, covered with long waves of winter-corn, that seemed rolling up to their feet with a jubilant murmur. And how their eyes gloated over that land, their true foster-mother! Some even saluted it with doffed caps; all knelt down in spirit, mutely and fervently worshipping Her, the Hallowed, Her, the Much-desired!