“’Twas Mother’s!” Yuzka told her sullenly. “Did ye not see that? All those coral and amber beads on her bosom were Mother’s as well. The kerchief on her head is her own—nothing else!” “True. So many a thing have his dead wives left him! He never would let us touch any; and now all are hers, to strut about in!” “Yet she railed at them the other day—told Nastka the garments were mouldy and noisome!” “Oh, may they smell of devil’s dirt to her!” “Let Father but be healed!... I shall tell him instantly about the corals.... Five strings of them there were, every one as long as a whip, and each bead as big as the largest pea!”—And Magda, having said her say, heaved a deep sigh, and spoke no more.—Yuzka slipped away; Vitek, outside the stable, was busily constructing a toy something like a cock; while the children played in the porch with the dogs, under the eyes of old Bylitsa, who watched over them as a hen over her chickens. “Is the field-work here finished?” Roch inquired of him. “Aye, as far as pea-sowing and potato-planting go: no more.” “Few folk here can say as much.” “All will be well, we are told: the men are to be set free on Low Sunday.” “Who, then, knew so much ... and said it?” “’Twas a whisper that went about the congregation.—And Kozlova is to go and beseech the Squire!” “The more fool she! Was it the Squire who cast them into prison?” “His intercession might set them free.” “Once he did speak, but naught came of it.” “Had he but a little goodwill! But my goodman says he hates Lipka, and will do naught for us....” Here Magda broke off abruptly, and became more interested in her children, and Roch listened in vain for any more information from her. “And when,” he asked with interest, “when is Kozlova going to him?” “At once, as soon as noon is past.” “Well, then, all she will get of it will be a walk and some fresh air.” She did not reply. Just then, the Squire’s brother, Mr. Yacek, commonly held to be somewhat feeble-minded, came in from the road into the enclosure, with his long yellow beard and wandering eyes, bowed down, pipe in mouth and violin under his arm as usual. Roch went out to meet him. They surely must have been well acquainted; for they went and sat together on the stones by the shore of the mill-pond, and talked so long that it was well into the afternoon when they separated. But Roch came back to the porch, out of sorts and gloomy. “That gentleman,” Bylitsa remarked, “has grown so thin, I scarcely knew him.” “Did ye know him of old, then?” said Roch, dropping his voice as he glanced at the blacksmith’s wife. “To be sure, I did.... He was a gay youngster once upon a time.... Aye, and a sad fellow with the wenches.... In Vola, they said, not one of them slipped through his fingers.—Ah, and I remember what splendid horses he used to ride—and what a rake he was.—Aye, aye, I remember well,” the old man said maunderingly.