Jan Kanty questioned her quietly. “Where do you sleep?” he asked. “On the floor, reverend sir,” she answered. “And the aches and pains are so strong that I can stand them no longer. It is certain that a devil possesses me and I would that you should pray him away.” “Is the floor made of stones?” “It is.” “Are the stones ever wet?” “No, reverend sir, except in spring.” “Is the earth damp beneath the stones?” “Why—yes—perhaps,” she said. “Sometimes when the well water is not much used it overflows, for there is a source there, and sometimes when they have been drawing water carelessly the overflow leaks down beneath the stones.” “Then take heed to what I say and the aches and pains will pass. Take stones and build a low wall between the well and the side of your cottage. Make this waterproof and then dig a drain that will carry the water away from your house. Hang your bedclothes often in the sun and be sure that they are always dry. Change every week the boughs upon which you lie; thus will the pains go away.” She kissed his hand and departed. Then came a peasant who complained that worms were coming up from the ground and were destroying the young shoots of his plants. “Could you but say a prayer, father,” the man supplicated, “the worms will cease.” “It is for you to prevent them,” said Jan Kanty. “Sprinkle all the earth about the plants with ashes which you take from your stove. If this does not prevent the worms, then rise early in the morning and pour water about the plants. The worms will then come to the top where the water is and you may kill them.” Then stooping over a high desk he began to write upon a long scroll of parchment, the end of which hung far over the desk almost to the floor. He used for writing the quill of a pigeon thrust into a piece of oak wood. Joseph curled up on a bench that ran along beneath the windows and closed his eyes. What a day it had been! And what might the future hold? His thoughts, which at first had begun to run slowly, suddenly became brisk and grew fantastic. He seemed to see himself bearing armor, a shield, and a sword, fighting desperately with a great dark-browed Tartar who had instead of a head a huge yellow pumpkin. Then the Tartar suddenly took off his head, and carrying it in his arms, climbed up a steep ladder to a room that seemed to hang from the stars. Out of it came lightning and flashes of strangely colored light, and suddenly the Tartar emerged, now with the head of a dog, and the pumpkin floating along beside him as if it were but a ball of feathers in the wind. The scratching of Jan Kanty’s quill grew fainter and fainter, and the fantastic world dimmed slowly in blackness. Joseph was fast asleep.