“He may call a meeting, but we’ll vote no school!” laughed Klemba. “We should have at once so much more per acre to pay in taxes. Just as in Vola.” “Surely,” the Soltys admitted; “but when the Head Official gives an order, we have to obey.” “What orders have we to take from him? Let him order his gendarmes not to join with the thieves to rob us!” “Gregory, you are growing saucy,” said the Soltys severely. “Men’s tongues have ere now taken them farther away than they wished to go!” “Ye shall not put me down. I know our rights, and fear no Head Official. Only you poor ignorant sheep shake from head to foot before every Jack in office.” He spoke so loud that they were shocked at his rashness, and more than one felt his flesh creep. Klemba went on to say: “But truly, such a school is of no use to us! For two years my boy Adam went to the school in Vola. The teacher got three bushels of potatoes a year from me, and eggs and butter from my wife besides at Yule-tide and Easter. And what has come of it all? He can neither read a Polish prayer-book nor say his ABC in Russian! Whereas my younger ones, whom Roch taught last winter, can both make out writing, and read the books our gentry read.” “Then,” said Gregory, “let us engage Roch to teach our children.” Here the Soltys stepped a little aside from the group, and said, lowering his voice: “Roch would be the best, I know, and he has taught my boys; but it cannot be. The police have found out something, and they are on his trail. The Superintendent saw me in the office, and inquired diligently about him—said he was sure that Roch taught the children, and distributed Polish books and newspapers to the folk.—We must tell him to take good heed.” “That’s a bad business,” said old Ploshka. “He’s a good religious man; but the whole village may come to great harm through him.... Yes, measures must be taken—and quickly.” “What, man!” said Gregory in an indignant whisper; “are ye such a coward as to think of betraying him?” “Should he stir up the people against the Government to the destruction of us all, we ought all to do so. You are young; but I recollect well what took place in the war of the gentry, and how we peasants were cudgelled formerly for the least thing we did. With them we have naught in common.” “Ah, ye would fain become Voyt! And ye are no more good than a boot with a hole in it!” They said no more, for Roch then came out of the cabin, looked round at the people, crossed himself, and cried: “It is time!—On, in the name of the Lord!” He stepped forward, and behind him surged the mass of peasants in the middle of the road, with a few women and children after them. The heat of the day was over, the bells were just pealing for Vespers, and the sun was rolling forestward. It was fine bright weather, and the sky-line showed so clear that the remotest villages were made out distinctly.