She was by this time somewhat elevated and mischievous: so, having noticed Yasyek Topsy-turvy sitting in a corner by himself, sighing miserably, wiping his nose, and eyeing Nastka from a distance, she drew him out to address her and so make sport. “Dance with her, and take what may be had! Your mother would not let you marry her; but frisk around her now she has a goodman, and she may requite your love!” Then she poured forth such talk as made the ears tingle; and when Ambrose, having got enough to drink by now, began to wag his tongue likewise, they set the ball rolling together, and made everybody shake with mirth, till the short summer night, spent in fun and frolic, came unexpectedly to an end. And now no one remained but the family (and Ambrose, bent on draining the very last drop left in the bottles). The young couple decided to start at once for their new home. Matthew wished them to stay a little longer; but Simon, who had borrowed a horse and cart of Klemba, would not hear of it. So he bundled lockers and vessels and bedding into the cart, seated Nastka in state on the top, knelt down for her mother’s blessing, and, with a kiss for his brother-in-law and a profound salute to the others, crossed himself, whipped up the horse, and started off: the whole family accompanying him. They walked on in silence, till, close to the mill, a couple of storks were seen circling high in air above their heads. The old dame clapped her hands at the sight, and said: “Knock on wood! Here’s the best foreboding for you, and ye shall have children in plenty!” Nastka, reddened slightly; but Simon, who was pushing behind the cart, whistled jauntily, and threw exultant glances around him. When at last they were alone, Nastka, looking at her new home, burst into tears at the sorry sight. But Simon cried: “No crying, silly! Other folk have still less: they are envying you!” He was very much worn out, and somewhat in his cups. So he flung himself down on some straw in a corner, and was soon snoring loud ... while she, sitting near the window and looking down at the white cottages of Lipka, went on shedding tears. This melancholy state of mind did not, however, last very long. All the village folk seemed to have plotted together to come to her aid. Klemba’s wife came first, with a hen under her arm, and a brood of little chickens in a basket. It was a good beginning; and almost daily one of the goodwives looked in, and never a one of them empty-handed. Their kindness touched her heart. “Dear people,” she said, “how can I ever repay you?” “A word of hearty thanks will do,” replied Sikora’s wife, who had brought her a piece of linen cloth. “When ye are at your ease, ye can pass it on to someone that is also in want,” added Ploshkova, producing a goodly piece of bacon from under her apron.