He knew himself back in the land—_his_ land—yea, the land of his father, of his forefathers: was it strange that he should feel his soul glad, and that every throb of his heart should cry out aloud and joyfully to the whole world: “Here I am once more, and here do I remain!”? He pulled himself together, bracing himself to take up this new life, to walk in his father’s ways and those of his ancestors before him: like them, he bowed his shoulders to the yoke of heavy toil, to be borne bravely, unweariedly, until little Peter should step into his place. “It is the order of things that the young should succeed the old and the sons the fathers, one by one, continually, so long as it shall be Thy will, O merciful Jesus,” he thought, in deep meditation. He bent his head over his hands, bowing it low; for many and various thoughts had now come into his mind, mournful recollections which the accusing voice of conscience now brought before him—bitter painful truths that humbled him in the dust, as he acknowledged his multitudinous transgressions and sins. It was a hard thing, this confession of his, and he found it no easy matter to appease his conscience; but he fought down his stubbornness, conquered his pride, and looked back on his past life with true repentance, examining every act with the utmost severity and fairness of judgment. “I have been naught but an infamous fool!” he thought with deep sadness, while a bitter smile writhed his lips. “All in the world must take place in due order. Aye, my father spoke wisely: ‘When all carts go the same way, woe to him that falls from one; he will be crushed under the wheels.’—But every man has to realize this by himself, with his own reason; and this may cost very dear indeed.” Sounds of lowing now floated from the wood; the cattle were coming home amid great volumes of dust; oxen, sheep with their attendant dogs, careful to keep them away from the corn; squealing herds of pigs, driven home with many a blow; calves plaintively seeking their lost mothers; a few herdsmen on horseback, and the others on foot with the flocks, striking, shouting, and keeping up a stream of noisy talk. Antek had remained with Peter on one side to let them pass, when Vitek saw him and came up to kiss his hand. “I see you have grown pretty well in these last times.” “I have in truth. The trousers I got in autumn now come but just beyond my knees.” “All will be well; be sure that Mistress will give you a new pair.—Is there grass enough for the kine?” “Alas! no, it is all sere and drying up. If mistress had not fodder for them at home, they could give no milk at all.—Pray let me have Peter, for a little ride,” he added pleadingly. “But surely he will fall off the horse!”