“No need for that. Keep your money for your most urgent wants: I shall say Mass for you as soon after Easter as the Rubric allows.” She kissed his hands gratefully, and clasped his feet, peasant-fashion, whilst he gave her his blessing with the sign of the cross, and, like the best of fathers, caressed the little ones who came crowding round him. “Now, tell me the manner of it.” “The manner of it?—Why, we went to bed early, having no oil in our lamp, and no wood to make a fire. It blew hard, and the cabin shook, but I had no fear, because it had resisted fiercer gales. The draughts in the room kept me awake for some time, but I must have fallen into a doze at last. All at once, there was a crashing banging sound, and the noise of the walls splitting. O Lord! I thought, the world is falling to pieces!—Out of bed I leapt, but had hardly taken my little ones in my arms, when everything overhead began to crack and break down. I just got to the porch outside, while the roof was thundering down upon me. Ere I got my wits back, the chimney too fell with an awful noise. In the yard it was blowing fearfully: we could scarce stand, and the thatch went piecemeal down the wind. I had a good way to go to the village in the night; all were sleeping sound there, and I could make no one hear me. So I returned and took shelter with the children in the potato-pit till morning.” “God was watching over you.—That cow, tethered to the cherry-tree, whose is she?” “Ours. She feeds us: we owe our lives to her alone.” “A good milker, no doubt: loins as straight as a beam.—With calf, I see?” “She will calve in a few days.” “Take her over to my cow-house; there is room, and she may stay till the grass is grown.—Now, where will you dwell? Tell me where.” At that moment a dog fell a-barking and made a fierce onset upon the people there. Driven off, it sat down on the threshold, and howled dismally. The priest had shrunk back at its attack. “Is that dog mad?” he asked. “Whose is it?” “’Tis Kruchek, our dog. Aye, the misfortune has made it daft. A good watch-dog,” stammered Bylitsa, hastening to silence it. The priest then took his leave, beckoning to Sikora’s wife to follow him. Holding out both hands to the goodwives who pressed forward to kiss them, he walked away slowly, but was seen for some time talking with the women upon the road. The womenfolk, having duly pitied their unfortunate neighbour, now departed hastily, all at once remembering breakfast and the work before them. No one remained about the ruins except the family; and they were thinking how to rescue something more out of the wrecked hut, when Sikora’s wife came up, breathless. “Your abode must be with me, on that side of the cabin where Roch has been teaching. There’s no chimney, to be sure, but you can arrange a makeshift fire-place that will do for the nonce,” she said hastily. “But, good dame, how am I to pay the rent?”