Now the carts of those who had stayed out the storm began to drive off; but a good many farmers from the neighbouring places remained as the guests of the Lipka folk—those, that is, who had so kindly come to help the women not long since. They were received in the homes of the wealthier farmers with plenty to eat and drink; but the poorer took their kind friends to treat them at the tavern, so as to enjoy the pleasure of company: the more, the merrier. Some musicians came too; and, immediately after Vespers, there was heard inside the tavern the thin melody of the violin, the rumbling of the bass-viol, and the deep-toned boom of the drum. People crowded all the more eagerly to enjoy themselves, because since Easter there had been no occasion for merry-making. So many had gathered together that there was not room for all, and quite a crowd had to be satisfied with the logs that lay outside the tavern; but as the weather was now fine, with a grand display of gold in the sky, they sat down there in numbers, and called for drink. The tavern itself was brimful of young people, and they at once set to dancing the _Oberek_, making walls and floors groan with their impact and tread as they whirled along. And who led the dance with Nastka?—who but Simon, son of Dominikova? In vain did his brother Andrew dissuade him, plucking him by the sleeve; he was in a gay unruly mood, and drank vodka, and pressed it on Nastka and his boon companions, and flung five-kopek pieces to the band, that they might play with more spirit. And he took Nastka round the waist, vociferating with might and main: “Come, boys, be lively! Stamp and tramp as Poles do!” And he galloped about the room like a runaway colt, shouting and striking the floor with great violence. “He has no straw in his boots, that young blade!” Ambrose muttered, his throat twitching greedily, as he looked on at the drinkers. “As a flail, so wields he his limbs!... I hope they may not come off!” he added louder, and coming near. “Take care lest one of yours come off!” Matthew retorted grimly, alluding to the other’s wooden leg. “Oh, I wish so much to drink friendship with you!” he answered, with a propitiatory smile. “Here, drunkard! and have a care to leave the glass unswallowed!” Matthew replied, pouring out a full glass, and turning his back. Gregory, the Voyt’s brother, was holding forth to his group in low tones; they listened, crowded up against the bar, and with such attention that they neither noted the dancers around nor the vodka that stood before them. They were six, all of the best families in the place, and very keen on the matter under discussion; but as the noise and the crowd increased, they presently passed into the Jew’s private parlours, which he occupied along with his guests.