At first no one would believe it, and though fresh and more dreadful particulars came in hourly, they were hardly taken in earnest by anyone. The graver members of the community only said: “The idle love inventing stories and spreading them for a pastime.” They believed, however, when the blacksmith, home from town, bore out every word, and Yankel told the whole village: “’Tis all true! Five thousand roubles of the community’s money are wanting. His farm will be seized for the sum, and should it not suffice, Lipka will have to make up the rest!” Thereupon a furious storm of protest arose. What! when they all were in such straits, and misery cried aloud everywhere; when there was nothing more to eat, and many had to borrow, that they might pull through till the harvest was over: was it now that they must pay money for a thief? That was beyond human patience; the whole place went mad with rage, and curses and threats and foul names flew about like hail. “I was no partner of his: therefore will I not pay in his stead!” “Neither will I! He had revelled and caroused and had his pleasure: must I suffer now, paying for the pranks he has played?” So said many a one, in sore trouble, and hardly able to keep back his tears. “Long have I had mine eyes upon the man, and foretold all that has now come to pass. Ye would not hearken then; and now, here you are!” old Ploshka said, not without ulterior intentions; and his wife, like a worthy helpmeet, echoed his words about the place, repeating them to any that would listen. The tidings were so overwhelming that but few went that day to church, but talked the matter over at home. As the grievance was common to all, so they all complained together in huts and orchards, but especially along the mill-pond banks. What puzzled them most was, where the man could have wasted so much money. “He must have hidden it somewhere; he never can have spent such a sum!” “Nay, he has trusted in the scrivener’s uprightness, and we know well how far that goes.” “Poor man! he has wronged us all, but himself more than anyone,” some of the graver villagers remarked: when Ploshka’s wife thrust her portly figure amongst them, and came forward wiping dry eyes, and with assumed sympathy: “And I say, poor wife!—she that was such a grand and haughty dame—what will she do now? Both land and house will be taken from her, and the poor wretch will have to go into lodgings and work for others! ’Tis not as if she had got some pleasure out of all that money spent!” “Oh, but she has enjoyed herself very well as it is!” Kozlova bawled, attacking her like Ploshkova, but in a different fashion. “They have both lived like lords, the merry villains!—meat every day, and half a potful of sugar in her coffee! And they both of them drank their rum neat and in tumblers! I myself have seen them bring all sorts of good things from town—half a cartful! What else made them so big-bellied? Not fasting, at any rate!”