“Where we do every year: outside our porch. I am sending Peter instantly to the forest for young fir-trees and pine-bough decorations, whilst Yagustynka is to hurry off with Yuzka and get flowers for garlands.” “And have ye the tapers and candlesticks yet?” “Only this morning, Ambrose promised to bring me some from the church.” “And on whose premises are altars to be set up besides?” “At the Voyt’s, on this side of the pond; on the other, at the miller’s and at Ploshka’s.” “I shall help: but first I must see Mr. Yacek. Ere dusk, I am here again.” “Then pray tell Veronka to come over by daybreak to-morrow, and make herself useful.” He nodded, and walked away towards the ruins of Staho’s hovel. Mr. Yacek was, as usual, on the threshold, smoking, stroking his beard, and looking far away to where the birds fluttered above the undulating corn. In front of the hut, close to the cherry-trees, lay several enormous trunks; ancient Bylitsa went pottering among them, now dealing a blow at them with an ax, now smoothing away some protruding knag with a hatchet, and talking to them all the time aloud: “Aha! So you have come into our yard. Many thanks! Matthew will soon cut you asunder into shapely beams that shall do you no little honour. Aye, you shall dwell here secure from moisture: fear not.” “He talks to it as though it were a living thing!” Roch observed in some surprise. “Sit ye down: he is mad with joy to-day.—Hark to him!” “And you too, poor sufferer, lived in the forest; now will you rest, and none shall come to trouble you any more!” continued the old man, patting the resin-stained bark with loving hands. Then, stepping over to the largest trunk, that had been flung down by the roadside, and crouching close to the flat sawn resin-sweltering surface with yellow rings that he gloated fondly upon, he muttered: “So great a one? yet overcome all the same, hey? The Jews would fain have carried you to town, but through our Lord’s grace you remain here with your own, your husbandmen: they will hang sacred images upon you, and the priest will bless you with holy water. Aye, Aye!” At this, Mr. Yacek smiled faintly, and, having spoken a few words with Roch, took up his violin, and made for the forest by the field-paths. Roch stayed listening to Veronka as she talked, and evening slowly came on. The morrow being a festival, the day’s work was sooner ended than usual. Women began to weave festoons outside the cabins, children came in, bringing armfuls of green flags and rushes. In front of Ploshka’s and the miller’s houses, birch and fir-boughs were piled in heaps, to be planted wherever an altar was raised; and the girls decked the walls behind them with greenery. They also filled up many hollow places in the roads with gravel and sand.