“’Tis good talk, that; but can you accomplish it?” Antek asked, in doubt. “Let me but have it—the land to work on ... and ye shall see!” he exclaimed with great energy. “Then we have but to talk with the Squire and buy the land.” “Wait a little, Antek, wait a little; let us consider this in all its bearings.” “Ye will see how well I shall do everything!” said Simon, speaking hurriedly. “Who was it ploughed Mother’s ground? Who reaped for her?—I alone! And was it work badly done? Am I a sluggard, tell me? Let the whole village answer—nay, let even Mother bear witness!... Oh, if I only have the land!... Help me to get that, O ye my dearest of brethren, and I shall thank you to the day of my death!” he cried, weeping and laughing by turns—intoxicated, as it were, with the joy of the hope which had come to him. As soon as he was a little calmed, they set to deliberate and to talk over the idea and see what was to be done. “Provided,” Nastka said, with a sigh of fear, “provided the Squire be willing to accept instalments.” “I think he will, if Matthew and I guarantee their being paid.” Nastka, for his kindness, was ready to kiss his hands. “I myself have had sufferings, and know how they taste to other folk,” he said, rising to take leave; for it was dark upon the earth: only the sky was yet alight, and the evening glowed in the West. Antek hesitated awhile in which direction to turn his steps, but at last bent them towards home. He walked on very leisurely, and at length was close to his cabin. The windows were open and alight, the children wailing within, Hanka raising her voice and Yuzka retorting shrilly. He could not quite make up his mind, till Lapa came joyfully whining and leaping up. Then—following a sudden impulse of ill humour—he gave the dog a kick and walked back to the village, going down the lane that led to the priest’s orchard. He passed along the organist’s premises so silently that not even a dog gave tongue; and gliding on outside the priest’s garden, he was presently on the wide field-pathway which divided Klemba’s land from that of his Reverence. He was completely hidden in the dark shadow of the trees. The moon, a sharp thin sickle, already glittered in the shadowy sky. Stars peeped out in ever greater and greater numbers; and the evening, though hot, was shedding dew upon the earth. Quails flew out of the rye; droning beetles whizzed over the fields, and the scent and silence of the meadows made the brain whirl in a sort of stupor. Yagna was not in sight. Instead, about half a furlong away, the parish priest, clad in a white dust-coat, walked about saying his prayers, and apparently so intent upon them that he took scant notice how his horses, from grazing on his own miserable fallow land, had crossed to Klemba’s rich clover meadow, that rose high and dark, with lush growth and countless flowers, on the other side of the path.