“Indeed, no one is willing to give things gratis,” Hanka said with a heavy sigh, as the memory of her recent past surged up. “I sat with Florka for a long time,” Yagustynka went on to say; “and many women came in, telling us what was going on in Lipka. They said——” “Mercy on us!” Hanka suddenly exclaimed, starting to her feet. A gust had just blown the door in, so violently as almost to wrench it off its hinges. And she had closed it with such care, and placed stakes to prop it up against the wind! “With such a gale as this, I fear there will soon be more rain.” “As it is, the carts afield already sink axle-deep in mire!” “But with a few days of warm sun, the ground will soon be dry again: ’tis spring.” “Ah, if we could but begin to plant potatoes ere Eastertide!” So they went on talking, busy with their work, and the potatoes drummed upon the floor continuously: those too small thrown on to one heap, and the damaged ones on to another. “These will fatten your sow, and the kine will drink the boiled water.” But Hanka was scarcely listening, pondering how to get at her father-in-law’s money. At times she looked out through the open door at the trees, waving and wrestling with the blasts, that were cold and damp, and pungent with the smell of the dunghill close by. The farm-yard was empty, save for a few fowls running about with ruffled feathers. The geese all sat in a corner close to the hedge, and gathered their chuckling little ones under their wings. Now and again Pete came in, driving his empty wagon, and slapping his arms against his sides; then, giving the horses a bundle of hay, and (Vitek aiding) filling the cart with dung, he pushed it on over the ruts and holes, and drove away into the fields once more. Many a time, too, did Yuzka hurry in, loud-voiced, blowzed, breathless, on her way to somebody’s cabin with presents, and chattering all the way as she came and went. Unquestioned, she talked and talked, and was presently seen starting again, bearing a dish carefully wrapped up in a napkin. “A chatterbox that girl is, but no fool,” Yagustynka observed. “No fool, indeed; only she has naught in her head but mischief and games.” “What would you have? Such a tiny thing!” “Vitek!” Hanka cried on a sudden. “Someone has entered the cabin. See who it is.” “’Tis the blacksmith, just come in.” A misgiving took hold of her, and she went straightway to her father’s side, where he was lying—on his back, as usual—while Yagna sewed at the window. No one else was there. “What has become of Michael?” “Somewhere about, seeking a key he lent to Matthias not long ago,” she explained, without looking Hanka in the face. The latter went into the passage, into her own room, where Bylitsa was sitting with the children by the fire, and making them little toy windmills—even into the farm-yard buildings: he was nowhere in sight. Then back she darted straight to the larder on her father’s side, though the door was shut.