“Take no thought as to that. If ye get money, pay what ye choose; if not, then aid us in our work, or simply say, Thanks; ’twill do. Why, the room stands empty! Most heartily do I invite you; and the priest sends you this bit of paper for present necessities.” She unfolded a three-rouble note. “May the Lord grant him health!” Veronka exclaimed, kissing the gift. “There’s not another man on earth so kind as he!” Hanka said; and old Bylitsa added: “In the priest’s byre, our cow will not be so very badly off!” The removal took place at once. The Sikoras’ cabin was by the roadside, not far off; and they carried there such articles as they had managed to get out of the ruins on so short a notice. Hanka ordered Pete to lend a hand, and Roch came a little later, helping them at such a rate that Veronka was settled in her new lodgings before the midday Angelus had rung. “Now I am next door to a beggar-woman!” she complained bitterly, with a glance round her. “Four corners and a hearth: not one image! not one unbroken dish!” “I shall fetch you a holy image,” Hanka said, soothingly. “Also, any vessels that I shall be able to spare.—And soon Staho will be back, and get men to restore the cabin with him.—Where is Father?” She wanted him to go to Boryna’s with her. But the old man had stayed at the ruined hut, sitting on the threshold binding up a wound in the dog’s side. “Come ye with me,” she said; “Veronka’s lodgings are not large, and we shall find a corner for you at our place.” “Nay, nay, Hanka; I remain here: here was I born, and here will I die.” No arguments, no entreaties, could shake his determination. “I shall make myself a straw bed in the passage ... and if you will have it so, I’ll tend the little ones and eat my meals at your home in payment.... But take the dog with you: it is wounded.... It will take care of the house.—A good watch-dog.” “But,” she pointed out, “the passage walls may fall upon you!” “No, no; they will stand longer than many a man shall live.... Do take the dog.” She yielded at last. There was really but little room at Boryna’s, and the old man would have been hard to lodge. She told Pete to slip a string through Kruchek’s collar, and take it to the cabin. “Burek has fled somewhither: Kruchek will fill its place well.—O you good-for-nothing fellow!” she cried, seeing that Pete could not manage the dog. Old Bylitsa helped to drag it away, chiding it severely. “You foolish Kruchek! Here, there’s naught to eat; there, you’ll get plenty, and a warm place to lie in!” But she went before them, in order to look in at her sister’s new abode, before going home. To her surprise, she found Veronka again in tears, and several women with her. “How have I ever deserved such kindness from you?” she sobbed. “’Tis but little we can give; we too are poor: but take what we bring you, it is given with goodwill.” So said Klembova, putting a large parcel in her hands. The others chimed in: “Such a mishap!”