Ambrose crossed himself, and came forward slantwise towards the pig, his club held back at an angle on one side. Then, coming to a standstill, he suddenly lifted his arm, and, twisting his body round with so forcible a writhe that his neck shirt-button flew off, brought his weapon down right between the ears. The animal’s forelegs gave way, and it went down squealing. He redoubled the blow, this time with both hands. The pig rolled on to one side, kicking convulsively: Ambrose then, astride on its belly, thrust the whole of his knife’s gleaming blade into its heart. A dish was at hand: the blood, streaming like warm water, spurted out in rhythmical squirts, with a bubbling sound. “Away, Lapa!—Look at that wicked dog!—Wants to lap some, and Lent not over yet!” he cried, breathless with exertion, as he drove the dog from the dish: for a centenarian, the effort had been considerable. “Shall we do the scalding in the passage?” “Rather take the trough into the room where the carcass is to hang till we quarter it.” “Will there not be too little space in the room?” “Not in the larger room—your father-in-law’s. He will suffer nothing. Only let’s hurry: the bristles come out more readily while the carcass is yet warm.” As he gave his directions, he was busy pulling out the long bristles down the back. In a short time the carcass was scalded, unhaired, thoroughly cleansed, hung up in Boryna’s room, and stretched out wide open with a lath tied to a rafter. Yagna was out, having gone to church early in the morning, and never dreaming that such a liberty would be taken. Her husband lay as usual, staring with lack-lustre eyes. They worked noiselessly at first, often looking round at him; but soon they forgot his presence, interested as they were in the pig, whose thick layer of fat far exceeded their expectations. “We have lulled him to sleep, we have brought him in here: ’tis time that some vodka should flow in his honour!” cried Ambrose, washing his hands over the trough. “Come to breakfast, and you’ll have some drink.” Indeed, before he sat down to the potatoes and _barszcz_ which formed the meal, he had tossed off a copious draught of vodka. He ate little, though, being in a hurry to go on with the work, and urged the others to make haste, especially Yagustynka, who was by no means his inferior in the salting and seasoning line, and knew as much as ever he did. Hanka, too, did her best to give aid, and so did Yuzka, eager to stay in the hut beside the newly killed porker, and not at all willing to go out. But Hanka cried out to her: “Be off at once, and order them to cart the dung away, and lend them a hand yourself, while they are spreading it! The sluggards! I fear the work will not be over by this evening.” So Yuzka, much against her will, ran out into the yard, where she was heard for a long while, venting all her ill humour on the two farm-lads, and scolding them violently.