Mr. Yacek only smiled, and then, entering into talk with him, told him such wonderful things about this world of ours that Simon, had he only dared, would have fallen at his feet in wonder and gratitude. And in the evening, he ran to tell Nastka all about it, concluding: “Folk call him silly: yet he is as full of wisdom as any priest!” “There be some that talk wisely, yet act foolishly. What, would he come peradventure to aid ye if he had all his wits? And would he tend Veronka’s kine?” “That, indeed, I cannot make out.” “Save by saying he has lost his senses.” “At any rate, he is the best man in the world.” Simon was immeasurably grateful to him for his kindness. Yet, for all their working together, and eating from the same vessel, and sleeping beneath the same covering, there was nothing of familiarity in their fellowship. “He always belongs to the race of the Squires,” Simon said to himself, with profound respect and thankfulness. With his help the hut rose up, even as a loaf rises which has been leavened; and when Matthew had likewise come to assist them, and Adam, son of Klemba, brought all they required from the forest, the building was soon to be seen distinctly from Lipka, so splendidly did it get on. Matthew worked hard for nearly the whole week, directing the others’ toil; and when (on Saturday afternoon) it was quite finished, he put up a cluster of green boughs on the chimney-top, and went off to some other work of his own. Then Simon whitewashed the cottage, and swept the shavings and rubbish away. And Mr. Yacek came with his violin under his arm, saying with a smile: “The nest is ready: bring the mother-bird!” Simon answered: “Our wedding is to-morrow after evensong,” and fell at his feet to thank him. “Oh, but I have not worked for nothing! When they send me away from the village, I come to lodge with you!” And, lighting his pipe, he strolled away to the forest. Simon, though all was finished, still pottered about the hut, stretching his weary limbs, and gazing upon it with an unexpected intensity of joy. “Mine! Aye, mine!” he repeated; and, apparently not believing his own eyes, he would touch the walls, walk round, peep in at the window, and sniff the raw pungency of the whitewash and the clay. It was late in the evening when he returned to Lipka to get ready for the next day. Everybody knew about his wedding, and Dominikova had been informed by a neighbour, though she made out not to have caught what was said. Early on Sunday morning, Yagna several times slipped away from her mother’s hut, carrying various articles in bundles quietly out through the garden, and taking them over to Nastka. The old dame, though quite conscious of what was going on, did nothing at all to prevent it, but went to and fro in silence, with so sombre an air that Andrew only ventured to approach her after High Mass. Which he did with great caution, and not very close. “Mother, I am going out.” “Better drive the horses to clover!”