The peasants, [vol. 4] : $b SummerReymont, Władysław Stanisław
General
The peasants, [vol. 4] : $b Summer
Reymont, Władysław Stanisław
Peasants -- Poland -- Fiction; Polish fiction -- Translations into English
“Dear little leveret, sweet little leveret, taken away from your
mother!” she whispered, holding it close to her bosom, like an infant in
arms, and stroking and fondling it tenderly. But the animal screamed as
if tortured, and, escaping from her hands, jumped out into the passage
amongst a lot of fowls that took tumultuously to flight, rushed out of
the porch just in front of Lapa, that was dozing inside, and away into
the orchard. The dog was hot in pursuit instantly; Vitek followed,
shouting; and the noise and uproar were so great that Hanka came out of
the farm-yard: while Yuzka laughed almost to split her sides.
“And did the dog get it?” she asked, with anxiety.
“A likely thing!” he exclaimed. “No; he just saw its scut and no more,
when it vanished into the depths of the corn, as a stone disappears in
the water.—A splendid runner it is.—Do not be sad, Yuzka; I will get you
another.”
Whatever he could find, he brought to her: now a lot of gold-besprinkled
quails, now a hedgehog, now a tame squirrel that leapt about the room
the most funnily in the world; or a brood of young swallows, twittering
so very sorrowfully that the parent birds flew after them into the room,
and Yuzka ordered him to restore them to the nest; and many another
curious thing; besides apples and pears, as many as they both could
manage to eat without their elders’ knowing.—But everything at last
wearied her, and she turned away tired and caring no more for anything.
“All this is naught to me! bring me something new!” she would murmur,
turning even from the stork, as it strutted about the room, poking its
beak into every pot and pan, or placed itself in ambush for a sudden
thrust at Lapa in the doorway.—Once only, when he brought her a
rainbow-hued bee-eater, caught alive, did she enjoy the sight a little.
“What a magnificent bird! It looks as if painted!”
“Only take care lest it peck your nose: ’tis an ill bird to tackle.”
“But it does not even try to get away.—Is it tame?”
“No, but I have bound its wings and legs.”
The bird amused them for some time; but it pined away, sat motionless,
and, refusing to eat, died shortly, to the great sorrow of all in the
household.
So the days went by.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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