“And is he not of the seed of Dominikova?” someone replied with a laugh. But Gregory, who had watched him all along closely, observed: “True it is, he works like an ox; but we, we ought to make things easier for the man.” “We ought,” they assented; “and we must, for he deserves help.” But no one put himself forward, everyone waiting for him to ask them first. That Simon would not do, nor had even thought of doing. And so he was one morning in much amazement, seeing a cart come his way. It was driven by Andrew, who called out merrily: “Aye, it is I. Tell me where I am to plough!” It was some time before Simon could believe his eyes. “You, to have dared so greatly!—But you’ll get beaten, poor fellow!—You’ll see!” “I care not. And if she beats me, I will come over to you for good.” “Did you get this thought all by yourself?” “All by myself! For a long time I had been fain, but they watched me at first.—Yagna too advised me not to come.” He told him the whole affair in detail, while preparing to work; then they ploughed all day together; and, on going, he promised to return the next day. So he did, with the rising sun. Simon noticed some slight discoloration on his brother’s cheeks, but only questioned him after the day’s work was done. “Did she hurt you very much?” “Oh, she’s purblind, and cannot catch me easily; and then I do not put myself in the way of her claws,” he answered, somewhat ruefully. “And Yagna ... she did not give you away?” “Indeed no; she is not that sort.” “Ah, can anyone make out what a woman may take it into her head to do?” He sighed deeply, and told him not to come again. “I can manage alone now. Later, at sowing-time, you will help me.” So he was alone again, working out his days one after another, like a horse turning a threshing-machine, and heedless both of the dreary solitude and the heat. For now it was growing hotter than it had ever been—a glow like hell, a conflagration. Scarcely anyone could work in the fields: the skies poured down living fire. They were one sheet of scorching incandescence: no breeze blew, no birds sang, no human voice resounded, while the sun went steadily on from east to west, raining down heat and drought. Yet Simon worked every day just as at the beginning; even sleeping afield of nights to lose no time in coming over. Matthew endeavoured to restrain him, but to no purpose. He replied, curtly: “I shall rest on Sunday.”