Merit's Classics

ccxxx SELECTED POLISH TALES

SELECTED

POLISH TALES

TRANSLATED BY

ELSE C. M. BENECKE

' AND

MARIE BUSCH

HUMPHREY MILFORD OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS

LONDON EDINBURGH GLASGOW COPENHAGEN

NEW YORK TORONTO MELBOURNE CAPE TOWN BOMBAY CALCUTTA MADRAS SHANGHAI PEKING

This selection of Tales by Polish authors was first published in ' The World's Classics ' in 1921.

7445.

PRINTED IN ENGLAND

AT THE H XJJSJIOII II I PRESS

CONTENTS

PAGE

PREFACE . . . .... . vii

THE OUTPOST. By BOLESLAW PRITS ... 1

A PINCH OF SALT. By ADAM SZYMANSKI . . 227

KOWALSKI THE CARPENTER. By ADAM SZYMANSKI . 239

FOREBODINGS. By STEFAN ZEROMSKI . . . 261

A POLISH SCENE. By WLADYSLAW ST. REYMONT . 269

DEATH. By WLADYSLAW ST. REYMONT . . 282

THE SENTENCE. By J. KADEN-BANDROWSKI . . 307

'P. P. C.' By MME RYGIER-NAI.KOWSKA . . 339

PREFACE

MY friend the late Miss Else C. M. Benecke left a number of Polish stories in rough translation, and I am carrying out her wishes in editing them and handing them over to English readers. In spite of failing health during the last years of her life, she worked hard at translations from this beautiful but difficult language, and the two volumes, Tales by Polish Authors and More Tales by Polish Authors, published by Mr. Basil Black- well at Oxford, were among the first attempts to make modern Polish fiction known in this country. In both these volumes I collaborated with her.

England is fortunate in counting Joseph Conrad among her own novelists ; although a Pole by birth he is one of the greatest masters of English style. The Polish authors who have written in their own language have perhaps been most successful in the short story. Often it is so slight that it can hardly be called a story, but each of these sketches conveys a distinct atmosphere of the country and the people, and shows the in- dividuality of each writer. The unhappy state of Poland for more than 150 years has placed political and social problems in the foreground of Polish literature. Writers are therefore judged

viii PREFACE

and appraised by their fellow-countrymen as much by their patriotism as by their literary and artistic merits.

Of the authors whose work is presented in this volume Prus (Aleksander Gtowacki), the veteran of modern Polish novelists, is the one most loved by his own countrymen. His books are written partly with a moral object, as each deals with a social evil. But while he exposes the evil, his warm heart and strong sense of justice — combined with a sense of humour — make him fair and even generous to all.

The poignant appeal of Szymdnski's stories lies in the fact that they are based on personal ex- periences. He was banished to Yakutsk in Siberia for six years when he was quite a young man and had barely finished his studies at the University of Warsaw, at a time when every profession of radicalism, however moderate, was punished severely by the Russian authorities. He died, a middle-aged man, during the War, after many years of literary and journalistic activity in the interest of his country. Neither he nor Prus lived to see Poland free and republican, an ideal for which they had striven.

Zeromski is a writer of intense feeling. If Prus's kindly and simple tales are the most beloved, Zeromski's more subtle psychological treatment of his subjects is the most admired, and he is said to

PREFACE ix

mark an epoch in Polish fiction. In the two short sketches contained in this volume, as well as in most of his short stories and longer novels, the dominant note is human suffering.

Reymont, who is a more impersonal writer and more detached from his subject, is perhaps the most artistic among the authors of short stories. His volume entitled Peasants, from which the two sketches in this collection are taken, gives very powerful and realistic pictures of life in the villages.

Kaden-Bandrowski is a very favourite author in his own country, as many of his short stories deal with Polish life during the Great War. In the early part of the War he joined the Polish Legions which formed the nucleus of Pilsudski's army, and shared their varying fortunes. During the greater part of this time he edited a radical newspaper for his soldiers, in whom he took a great interest. The story, The Sentence, was translated by me from a French translation kindly made by the author.

Mine Rygier-NatkowsJca, who, with Kaden- Bandrowski, belongs to the youngest group of Polish writers, is a strong feminist of courageous views, and a keen satirist of certain national and social conventions. The present volume only contains a short sketch — a personal experience of hers during the early part of the War. It would be considered a very daring thing for a Polish

x PEEFACE

lady to venture voluntarily into the zone of the Russian army, but her little sketch shows the individual Russian to be as human as any other soldier. This sketch and the first of Reymont's have been translated by Mr. Joseph Solomon, whose knowledge of Slavonic languages makes him a most valuable co-operator.

My share in the work has been to put Miss Benecke's literal translation into a form suitable for publication, and to get into touch with the authors or their representatives, to whom I would now tender my grateful thanks for their courteous permission to issue this volume, viz. to Mme Gtowacka, widow of ' Prus ', to the sons of the late Mr. Szymanski, to MM. Zeromski, Reymont, Ka- den-Bandrowski, and to Mme Rygier-Nalkowska, all of Warsaw.

MARIE BUSCH.

THE OUTPOST

BY

BOLESLAW PRUS

(ALEKSANDER GLOWACKI)

CHAPTER I

THE river Bialka springs from under a hill no bigger than a cottage ; the water murmurs in its little hollow like a swarm of bees getting ready for their flight.

For the distance of fifteen miles the Bialka flows on level ground. Woods, villages, trees in the fields, crucifixes by the roadside show up clearly and become smaller and smaller as they recede into the distance. It is a bit of country like a round table on which human beings live like a butterfly covered by a blue flower. What man finds and what another leaves him he may eat, but he must not go too far or fly too high.

Fifteen to twenty miles farther to the south the country begins to change. The shallow banks of the Bialka rise and retreat from each other, the flat fields become undulating, the path leads ever more frequently and steeply up and down hill.

The plain has disappeared and given place to a ravine ; you are surrounded by hills of the height of a many-storied house ; all are covered with bushes ; sometimes the ascent is steep, sometimes

230 B

2 THE OUTPOST

gradual. The first ravine leads into a second, wilder and narrower, thence into a succession of nine or ten. Cold and dampness cling to you when you walk through them ; you climb one of the hills and find yourself surrounded by a network of forking and winding ravines.

A short distance from the river-banks the land- scape is again quite different. The hills grow smaller and stand separate like great ant-hills. You have emerged from the country of ravines into the broad valley of the Bialka, and the bright sun shines full into your eyes.

If the earth is a table on which Providence has spread a banquet for creation, then the valley of the Bialka is a gigantic, long-shaped dish with upturned rim. In the winter this dish is white, but at other seasons it is like majolica, with forms severe and irregular, but beautiful. The Divine Potter has placed a field at the bottom of the dish and cut it through from north to south with the ribbon of the Bialka sparkling with waves of sapphire blue in the morning, crimson in the evening, golden at midday, and silver in moonlit nights.

When He had formed the bottom, the Great Potter shaped the rim, taking care that each side should possess an individual physiognomy.

The west bank is wild ; the field touches the steep gravel hills, where a few scattered hawthorn bushes and dwarf birches grow. Patches of earth show here and there, as though the turf had been peeled. Even the hardiest plants eschew these patches, where instead of vegetation the surface presents clay and strata of sand, or else rock showing its teeth to the green field.

THE OUTPOST 3

The east bank has a totally different character ; it forms an amphitheatre with three tiers. The first tier above the field is of mould and contains a row of cottages surrounded by trees \ this is the village. On the second tier, where the ground is clay, stands the manor-house, almost on top of the village, with which an avenue of old lime-trees connects it. To the right and left extend the manor-fields, large a?nd rectangular, sown with wheat, rye, and peas, or else lying fallow. The sandy soil of the third tier is sown with rye or oats and fringed by the pine-forest, its contours showing black against the sky.

The northern ridge contains little hills standing singly. One of them is the highest in the neigh- bourhood and is crowned by a solitary pine. This hill, together with two others, is the property of the gospodarz x Josef Slimak.

The gospodarstwo is like a hermitage ; it is a long way from the village and still farther from the manor-house.

Slimak's cottage is by the roadside, the front door opening on to the road, the back door into the yard ; the cowhouse and pigsty are under one roof, the barn, stable, and cart-shed forming the other three sides of the square courtyard.

The peasants chaff Slimak for living in exile like a Sibiriak.2 It is true, they say, that he lives

1 Gospodarz : the owner of a small holding, as distinct from the villager, who owns no land and is simply an agri- cultural labourer. The word, which means host, master of the house, will be used throughout the book.

Gospodyni : hostess, mistress of the holding. Gospodarstwo : the property.

2 Sibiriak: a person of European birth or extraction, living in Siberia.

4 THE OUTPOST

nearer to the church, but on the other hand he has no one to open his mouth to.

However, his solitude is not complete. On a warm autumn day, when the white-coated gospodarz is ploughing on the hill with a pair of horses, you can see his wife and a girl, both in red petticoats, digging up potatoes.

Between the hills the thirteen-year-old Jendrek1 minds the cows and performs strange antics mean- while to amuse himself. If you look more closely you will also find the eight-year-old Stasiek2 with hair as white as flax, who roams through the ravines or sits under the lonely pine on the hill and looks thoughtfully into the valley.

That gospodarstwo — a drop in the sea of human interest—was a small world in itself which had gone through various phases and had a history of its own.

For instance, there was the time when Josef Slimak had scarcely seven acres of land and only his wife in the cottage. Then there came two surprises, his wife bore him a son — Jendrek, — and as the result of the servituty3 his holding was increased by three acres.

Both these circumstances created a great change in the gospodarz's life ; he bought another cow and pig and occasionally hired a labourer.

1 Polish spelling, Jedrek (pronounced as given, Jendrek, with the French sound of en) : Andrew.

2 Stasiek : diminutive of Stanislas.

3 Servituty are pieces of land which, on the abolition of serfdom, the landowners had to cede to the peasants formerly their serfs. The settlement was left to the discretion of the owners, and much bargaining and dis content on both sides resulted therefrom ; the peasants had to pay percentage either in labour or in produce to the landowner.

THE OUTPOST 5

years later his second son, Stasiek, was bom. Then Slimakowa * hired a woman by way of an experiment for half a year to help her with the work.

Sobieska stayed for nine months, then one night she escaped to the village, her longing for the public-house having become too strong. Her place was taken by ' Silly Zoska ' 2 for another six months. Slimakowa was always hoping that the work would grow less, and she would be able to dispense with a servant. However, ' Silly Zoska ' stayed for six years, and when she went into service at the manor the work at the cottage had not grown less. So the gospodyni engaged a fifteen- year-old orphan, Magda, who preferred to go into service, although she had a cow, a bit of land, and half a cottage of her own. She said that her uncle beat her too much, and that her other relations only offered her the cold comfort that the more he applied the stick the better it would be for her.

Up till then Slimak had chiefly done his own farm work and rarely hired a labourer. This still left him time to go to work at the manor with his horses, or to carry goods from the tojtfn for the Jews.

When, however, he was summoned more and more often to the manor, he found that the day- labourer was not sufficient, and began to lookv out for a permanent farm-hand.

One autumn day, after his wife had been rating him severely for not yet having found a farm- hand, it chanced that Maciek Owczarz,3 whose foot

1 Slimakowa : Polish form for Mrs. Slimak.

* Zoska : diminutive of Sophia.

* Pronunciation approximately : Ovcharge. Maciek (pron. Machik) : Matthew.

6 THE OUTPOST

had been crushed under a cart, came out of the hospital. The lame man's road led him past Slimak's cottage ; tired and miserable he sat down on a stone by the gate and looked longingly into the entrance. The gqspodyni was boiling potatoes for the pigs, and the smell was so good, as the little puffs of steam spread along the highroad, that it went into the very pit of Maciek's stomach. He sat there in fascination, unable to move.

' Is that you, Owczarz ? * Slimakowa asked, hardly recognizing the poor wretch in his rags.

' Indeed, it is I,' the man answered miserably.

' They said in the village that you had been killed.'

' I have been worse off than that ; I have been in the hospital. I wish I had been left under the cart, I shouldn't be so hungry now.'

The gospodyni became thoughtful.

' If only one could be sure that you wouldn't die, you could stay here as our farm-hand.'

The poor fellow jumped up from his seat and walked to the door, dragging his foot.

' Why should I die ? ' he cried, ' I am quite well, and when I ta,ve a bit to eat I can do the work of two. Give me barszcz1 and I will chop up a cartload of wood for you. Try me for a week, and I will plough all those fields. I will serve you for old clothes and patched boots, so long as I have a, shelter for the winter.'

Here Maciek paused, astonished at himself for having said so much, for he was silent by nature.

1 Pronunciation approximately : barsht. The national dish of the peasants ; it is made with beetroot and bread, tastes slightly sour, and is said to be delicious.

THE OUTPOST 7

Slimakowa looked him up and down, gave him a bowl of barszcz and another of potatoes, and told him to wash in the river. When her husband came home in the evening Maciek was introduced to him as the farm-hand who had already chopped wood and fed the cattle.

Slimak listened in silence. As he was tender- hearted he said, after a pause :

' Well, stay with us, good man. It will be better for us and better for you. And if ever — God grant that may not happen — there should be no bread in the cottage at all, then you will be no worse off than you are to-day. Rest, and you will set about your work all right.'

Thus it came about that this new inmate was received into the cottage. He was quiet as a mouse, faithful tits a dog, and industrious as a pair of horses, in spite of his lameness.

After that, with the exception of the yellow dog Burek, no additions were made to Slimak's household, neither children nor servants nor property. Life at the gospodarstwo went with perfect regularity. All the labour, anxiety, and hopes of these human beings centred in the one aim : daily bread. For this the girl carried in the firewood, or, singing and jumping, ran to the pit for potatoes. For this the gospodyni milked the cows at daybreak, baked bread, and moved her saucepans on and off the fire. For this Maciek, perspiring, dragged his lame leg after the plough and harrow, and Slimak, murmuring his morning- prayers, went at dawn to the manor-barn or drove into the town to deliver the corn which he had sold to the Jews.

For the same reason they worried when there

8 THE OUTPOST

was not enough snow on the rye in winter, or when they could not get enough fodder for the cattle ; or prayed for rain in May and for fine weather at the end of June. On this account they would calculate after the harvest how much corn they would get out of a korzec,1 and what prices it would fetch. Like bees round a hive their thoughts swarmed round the question of daily bread. They never moved far from this subject, and to leave it aside altogether was impossible. They even said with pride that, as gentlemen were in the world to enjoy themselves and to order people about, so peasants existed for the purpose of feeding them- selves and others.

CHAPTER II

IT was April. After their dinner Slimak's house- hold dispersed to bheir different occupations. The gospodyni, tying a red handkerchief round her head and a white linen one round her neck, ran down to the river. Stasiek followed 'her, looking at the clouds and observing to himself that they were different every day. Magda busied herself washing up the dinner things, singing 'Oh, da, da ', louder and louder in proportion as the mistress went farther away. Jendrek began push- ing Magda about, pulling the dog's tail and whistling penetratingly ; finally he ran out with a spade into the orchard. Slimak sat by the stove. He was a man of medium height with a broad chest and powerful shoulders. He had a calm face,

1 A korzec is twelve hundred sheaves.

THE OUTPOST 9

short moustache, and thick straight hair falling abundantly over his forehead and on to his neck. A red-glass stud set in brass shone in his sacking shirt. He rested the elbow of his left arm on his right fist and smoked a pipe, but when his eyes closed and his head fell too far forward, he righted himself and rested his right elbow on his left fist. He puffed out the grey smoke and dozed alter- nately, spitting now arid then into the middle of the room or shifting his hands. When the pipe- stem began to twitter like a young sparrow, he knocked the bowl a few times against the bench, emptied the ashes, and poked his finger down. Yawning, he got up and laid the pipe on the shelf.

He glanced under his brows at Magda and shrugged his shoulders. The liveliness of the girl who skipped about while she was washing her dishes, roused a contemptuous compassion in him. He knew well what it felt like to have no desire for skipping about, and how great the weight of a man's head, hands, and feet can be when he has been hard at work.

He put on his thick hobnailed boots and a stiff sukmana,1 fastened a hard strap round his waist, and put on his high sheepskin cap. The heaviness in his limbs increased, and it came into bis mind that it would be more suitable to be buried in a bundle of straw after a huge bowl of peeled barley-soup and another of cheese dumplings, than to go to work. But he put this thought aside, and went out slowly into the yard. In his snuff- coloured sukmana and black cap he looked like the stem of a pine, burnt at the top.

1 Sulcmana, a long linen coat, often elaborately em- broidered.

B 3

10 THE OUTPOST

The barn door was open, and by sheer perversity some bundles of straw were peeping out, luring Slimak to a doze. But he turned away his head and looked at one of the hills where he had sown oats that morning. He fancied the yellow grain in the furrows was looking frightened, as if trying in vain to hide from the sparrows that were picking it up.

' You will eat me up altogether,' Slimak mut- tered. With heavy steps he approached the shed, took out the two harrows, and led the chestnuts out of the stable ; one was yawning and the other moved his lips, looking at Slimak and blinking his eyes, as if he thought : ' Would you not prefer to doze and not to drag us up the hill ? Didn't we do enough work for you yesterday ? } Slimak nodded, as if in answer, and drove off.

Seen from below, the thick-set man and the horses with heads hanging down, seemed to harrow the blue sky, moving a few hundred paces backward and forward. As often as they reached the edge of the sown field, a flight of sparrows rose up, twittering angrily, and flew over them like a cloud, then settled at the other end, shrieking continually in astonishment that earth should be poured on to such lovely grain.

' Silly fool ! Silly fool ! What a silly fool ! ' they cried.

' Bah 1 ' murmured Slimak, cracking his whip at, them, 'if I listened to you idlers, you and I would both starve under the fence. The beggars are playing the deuce here ! '

Certainly Slimak got little encouragement in his labour. Not only that the sparrows noisily criticized his work, and the chestnuts scornfully whisked their tails under his nose, but the harrows

THE OUTPOST 11

also objected, and resisted at every little stone or clod of earth. The tired horses continually stumbled, and when Slimak cried ' Woa, my lads ! ' and they went on, the harrows again resisted and pulled them back. When the worried harrows moved on for a bit, stones got into the horses* feet or under his own shoes, or choked up, and even broke the teeth of the harrows. Even the ungrate- ful earth offered resistance.

' You are worse than a pig ! ' the man said angrily. ' If I took to scratching a pig's back with a horsecomb, it would lie down quietly and grunt with gratitude. But you are always bristling, as if I did you an injury ! '

The sun took up the affronted earth's cause, and threw a great sheaf of light across the ashen- coloured field, where dark and yellow patches were visible.

* Look at that black patch,' said the sun, ' the hill was all black like that when your father sowed wheat on it. And now look at the yellow patch where the stony ground comes out from under the mould and will soon possess all your land.'

4 But that is not my fault,' said Slimak.

* Not your fault ? ' whispered the earth ; ' you yourself eat three times a day, but how often do you feed me ? It is much if it is once in eight years. And then you think you give me a great deal, but a dog would starve on such fare. You know that you always grudge me the manure, shame on you ! '

The penitent peasant hung his head.

' And you sleep twice in twenty-four hours unless your wife drives you to work, but how much rest do you give me ? Once in ten years, and then

12 THE OUTPOST

your cattle trample upon me. So I am to be con- tent with being harrowed ? Just try giving no hay or litter to your cows, only scratch them and see whether they will give you milk. They will get ill, the slaughterer will have to be sent for, and even the Jew will give you nothing for their hides.'

4 Oh dear, oh dear ! ' sighed the peasant, acknowledging that the earth was right. But no one pitied or comforted him — on the contrary ! The west wind rose, and twining itself among the dry stalks on the field- paths, whistled :

' Look sharp, you'll catch it ! I will bring such a deluge of rain that the remainder of the mould will be spurted on to the highroad or into the manor -fields. And though you should harrow with your own teeth, you shall get less and less comfort every year ! I will make everything sterile ! '

The wind was not threatening in vain. In Slimak's father's time ten korzy of sheaves an acre had been harvested here. Now he had to be thankful for seven, and what was going to happen in the future ?

' That 's a peasant's lot,' murmured Slimak, * work, work, work, and from one,, difficulty you get into another. If only it could be otherwise, if only I could manage to have another cow and perhaps get that little meadow. . . .'

His whip was pointed at the green field by the Bialka.

But the sparrows only twittered ' You fool ! ' and the earth groaned : ' You are starving me ! '

He stopped the horses and looked around him to divert his thoughts.

Jendrek was digging between the cottage and

THE OUTPOST 13

the highroad, throwing stones at the birds now and then or singing out of tune :

' God grant you, God grant you That I may not find you, For else, my fair maid, You should open your gate.'

And Magda answered from within :

' Although I am poor And nay mother was poor, I '11 not at the gate Kiss you early or late.'

Slimak turned towards the river where his wife could be plainly seen in her white chemise and red skirt, bending over the water and beating the linen with a stick until the valley rang. Stasiek had already strayed farther towards the ravines. Sometimes he knelt down on the bank and gazed into the river, supported on his elbows. Slimak smiled.

* Peering again ! What does he see down there ? ' he whispered.

Stasiek was his favourite, and struck him as an unusual child, who could see things that others did not see.

While Slimak cracked his whip and the houses went on, his thoughts were travelling in the direction of the desired field.

' How much land have I got ? ' he meditated, ' ten acres ; if I had only sown six or seven every year and let the rest lie fallow, how could I have fed my hungry family ? And the man, he eats as much as I do, though he is lame ; and he has fifteen roubles wages besides. Magda eats less, but then she is lazy enough to make a dog howl. I'm lucky when they want me for work at the manor, or if

14 THE OUTPOST

a Jewess hires my horses to go for a drive, or my wife sells butter and eggs. And what is there saved when all is said and done ? Perhaps fifty roubles in the whole year. When we were first married, a hundred did not astonish me. Manure the ground indeed ! Let the squire take it into his head not to employ me, or not to sell me fodder, what then ? I should have to drive the cattle to market and die of hunger.

' I am not as well off as G-ryb or Lukasiak or Sarnecki. They live like gentlemen. One drives to church with his wife, the other wears a cap like a burgher, and the third would like to turn out the Wojt l and wear the chain himself. But I have to say to myself, ' Be poor on ten acres and go and bow and scrape to the bailiff at the manor that he may remember you. Well, let it be as it is ! Better be master on a square yard of your own than a beggar on another's large estate.' A cloud of dust was rising on the high-road beyond the river. Some one was coming towards the bridge from the manor-house, riding in a peculiar fashion. The wind blew from behind, but the dust was so thick that sometimes it travelled backwards. Occa- sionally horse and rider showed above it, but the next moment it whirled round and round them again, as if the road was raising a storm. Slimak shaded his eyes with his hand.

The designations Wojt and Soltys are derived from the German Vogt and Schultheiss. Their functions in the townships or villages are of a different kind ; in small villages there may be only one of these functionaries^ the Soltys. He is the representative of the Government, collects rates and taxes and requisitions horses for the army. The Wojt is head of the village, and magistrate. All legal matters would be referred to him.

THE OUTPOST

15

' What an odd way of riding ? who can it be ? not the squire, nor his coachman. He can't be a Catholic, not even a Jew ; for although a Jew would bob up and down on the horse as he does, he would never make a horse go in that reckless way. It must be some crazy stranger.'

The rider had now come near enough for Slimak to see what he was like. He was slim and dressed in gentleman's clothes, consisting of a light suit and velvet jockey cap. He had eyeglasses on his nose and a cigar in bis mouth, and he was carrying his riding whip under his arm, holding the reins in both hands between the horse's neck and his own beard, while he was shaking violently up and down ; he hugged the saddle so tightly with his bow legs that his trousers were rucked up, showing his calves.

Anyone in the very least acquainted with equestrian matters could guess that this was the first time the rider had sat upon a horse, or that the horse had carried such a rider. At moments they seemed to be ambling along harmoniously, until the bobbing cavalier would lose his balance and tug at the reins ; then the horse, which had a soft mouth, would turn sideways or stand still ; the rider would then smack his lips, and if this had no effect he would fumble for the whip. The horse, guessing what was required, would start again, shaking him up and down until he looked like a rag doll badly sewn together.

All this did not upset his temper, for indeed, this was the first time the rider had realized the dearest wish of a lifetime, and he was enjoying himself to the full.

Sometimes the quiet but desperate horse would

16 THE OUTPOST

break into a gallop. Then the rider, keeping his balance by a miracle, would drop his bridle- fantasias and imagine himself a cavalry captain riding to the attack at the head of his squadron, until, unaccustomed to his rank of officer, he would perform some unexpected movement which made the horse suddenly stand still again, and would cause the gallant captain to hit his nose or his cigar against the neck of his steed.

He was, moreover, a democratic gentleman. When the horse took a fancy to trot towards the village instead of towards the bridge, a crowd of dogs and children ran after him with every sign of pleasure. Instead of annoyance a benevolent enjoyment would then take possession of him, for next to riding exercise he passionately loved the people, because they could manage horses. After a while, however, his role of cavalry captain would please him more, and after further performances with the reins, he succeeded in turning back towards the bridge. He evidently intended to ride through the length and breadth of the valley.

Slimak was still watching him.

' Eh, that must be the squire's brother-in-law, who was expected from Warsaw,' he said to him- self, much amused; t our squire chose a gracious little wife, and was not even very long about it ; but he might have searched the length of the world for a brother-in-law like that ! A bear would be a commoner sight in these parts than a man sitting a horse as he does ! He looks as stupid as a cowherd — still, he is the squire's brother-in-law.'

While Slimak was thus taking the measure of this friend of the people, the latter had reached the

THE OUTPOST 17

bridge ; the noise of Slimakowa's stick had attracted his attention. He turned the horse towards the bridge-rail and craned his neck over the water ; indeed, his slim figure and peaked jockey cap made him look uncommonly like a crane.

' What does he want now ? ' thought Slimak. The horseman was evidently asking Slimakowa a question, for she got up and raised her head. Slimak noticed for the first time that she was in the habit of tucking up her skirts very high, showing her bare knees.

' What the deuce does he want ? ' he repeated, objecting to the short skirt.

The cavalier rode off the bridge with no -little difficulty and reined up beside the woman. Slimak was now watching breathlessly.

Suddenly the young man stretched out his hand towards Slimakowa's neck, but she raised her stick so threateningly that the scared horse started away at a gallop, and the rider was left clinging to his neck.

* Jagna ! what are you doing ? ' shouted Slimak ; ' that 's the squire's brother-in-law, you fool ! '

But the shout did not reach her, and the young man did not seem at all offended. He kissed his hand to Slimakowa and dug his heels into the horse, which threw up its head and started in the direction of the cottage at a sharp trot. But this time success did not attend the rider, his feet slipped out of the stirrups, and clutching his charger by the mane, he shouted : * Stop, you devil ! '

Jendrek heard the cry, clambered on to the gate, and seeing the strange performance, burst

18 THE OUTPOST

oufc laughing. The ridei's jockey cap fell off. ' Pick up the cap, my boy,' the horseman called out in passing.

1 Pick it up yourself/ laughed Jendrek, clapping his hands to excite the horse still more.

The father listened to the boy's answer speech- less with astonishment, but he soon recovered himself.

* Jendrek, you young dbg, give the gentleman his cap when he tells you ! ' he cried.

Jendrek took the jockey cap between two fingers, holding it in front of him and offering it to the rider when he had succeeded in stopping his horse.

' Thank you, thank you very much,' he said, no less amused than Jendrek himself.

1 Jendrek, take off your cap to the gentleman at once,' called Slimak.

* Why should I take off my cap to everybody ? ' asked the lad saucily.

* Excellent, that's right ! . . .' The young man seemed pleased. * Wait, you shall have twenty kopeks for that ; a free citizen should never humble himself before anybody.'

Slimak, by no means sharing the gentleman's democratic theories, advanced towards Jendrek with his cap in one hand and the whip in the other.

' Citizen ! ' cried the cavalier, ' I beg you not to beat the boy ... do not crush his independent soul ... do not . . .' he would have liked to have continued, but the horse, getting bored, started off again in the direction of the bridge. When he saw Slimakowa coming towards the cottage, he took off his dusty cap and called out :

' Madam, do not let him beat the boy ! *

Jendrek had disappeared.

THE OUTPOST 19

Slimak stood rooted to the spot, pondering upon this queer fish, who first was impertinent to his wife, then called her ' Madam ', and himself * Citizen ', and praised Jendrek for his cheek.

He returned angrily to his horses.

' Woa, lads ! what 's the world coming to ? A peasant's son won't take off his cap to a gentle- man, and the gentleman praises him for it ! He is the squire's brother-in-law — all the same, he musb be a little wrong in his head. Soon there will be no gentlemen left, and then the peasants will have to die. Maybe when Jendrek grows up he will look after himself ; he won't be a peasant, that's clear. Woa, lads !'

He imagined Jendrek in button-boots and a jockey cap, and he spat.

' Bah ! so long as I am about, you won't dress like that, young dog ! All the same I shall have to warm his latter end for him, or else he won't take his cap off to the squire next, and then I can go begging. It 's the wife's fault, she is always spoiling him. There's nothing for it, I must give him a hiding.'

Again dust was rising on the road, this time in the direction of the plain. Slimak saw two forms, one tall, the other oblong ; the oblong was walking behind the tall one and nodding its head.

' Who 's sending a cow to market ? ' he thought, ' . . . well, the boy must be thrashed . . . if only I could, have another cow and that bit of field.'

He drove the horses down the hill towards the Bialka, where he caught sight of Stasiek, but could see nothing more of his farm or of the road. He was beginning to feel very tired ; his feet seemed a heavy weight, but the weight of uncertainty was

20 THE OUTPOST

still greater, and he never gob enough sleep. When his work was finished, he often had to drive off to the town.

' If I had another cow and that field/ he thought, ' I could sleep more.'

He had been meditating on this while harrowing over a fresh bit for half an hour, when he heard his wife calling from the hill :

1 Josef, Josef ! '

c What 's up ? '

' Do you know what has happened ? '

' How should I know ? '

4 Is it a new tax ? ' anxiously crossed his mind.

' Magda's uncle has come, you know, that Grochowski. . . .'

' If he wants to take the girl back — let him.'

'He has brought a cow and wants to sell her to Gryb for thirty-five paper roubles and a silver rouble for the halter. She is a lovely cow.'

' Let him sell her ; what's that to do with me ? '

' This much : that you are going to buy her,' said the woman firmly.

Slimak dropped his hand with the whip, bent his head forward, and looked at his wife. The proposal seemed monstrous.

' What 's wrong with you ? ' he asked.

' Wrong with me ? ' She raised her voice. ' Can't I afford the cow ? Gryb has bought his wife a new cart, and you grudge me the beasts ? There are two cows in the shed ; do you ever trouble about them ? You wouldn't have a shirt to your back if it weren't for them.'

' Good Lord,' groaned the man, who was getting muddled by his wife's eloquence, ' how am I to feed her ? they won't sell me fodder from the manor.'

THE OUTPOST 21

' Rent that field, and you will have fodder.'

' Fear God, Jagna ! what are you saying ? How am I to rent that field ? '

' Go to the manor and ask the squire , say you will pay up the rent in a year's time.'

' As God lives, the woman is mad ! our beasts pull a little from that field now for nothing ; I should be worse off, because I should have to pay both for the cow and for the field. I won't go to the squire. '

His wife came close up to him and looked into his eyes. ' You won't go ? '

* I won't go.}

' Very well, then I will take what fodder there is and your horses may go to the devil ; but I won't let that cow go, I will buy her ! '

1 Then buy her.'

' Yes, I will buy her, but you have got to do the bargaining with Grochowski ; I haven't the time, and I won't arink vodka with him.'

4 Drink ! bargain with him ! you are mad about that cow ! '

The quick-tempered woman shook her fist in his face.

* Josef, don't upset me when you yourself have nothing at all to propose. Listen ! you are worry- ing every day that you haven't enough manure ; you are always telling me that you want three beasts, and when the time comes, you won't buy them. The two cows you have cost you nothing and bring you in produce, the third would be clear gain. Listen ... I tell you, listen ! Finish your work, then come indoors and bargain for the cow ; if not, I'll have nothing more to do with you.'

She turned her back and went off.

22 THE OUTPOST

The man put his hands to his head.

' God bless me, what a woman ! ' he groaned, ' how can I, poor devil, renfc that field ? She persists in having the cow, and makes a fuss, and it doesn't matter what you say, you may as well talk to a- wall. Why was I ever born ? everything is against me. Woa, lads ! '

He fancied that the earth and the wind were laughing at him again :

* You'll pay the thirty-five paper roubles and the silver rouble for the halter ! Week after week, month after month you have been putting by your money, and to-day you'll spend it all as if you were cracking a nut. You will swell Grochowski's pockets and youi own pouch will be empty. You will wait in fear and uncertainty at the manor and bow to the bailiff when it pleases him to give you the receipt for your rent ! . . .

' Perhaps the squire won't even let me have the field.'

4 Don't talk nonsense ! ' twittered the sparrows ; 'you know quite well that he'll let you have it.'

' Oh yes, he'll let me have it,' he retorted hotly, ' for my good money. I would rather bear a severe pain than waste money on such a foolish thing.'

The sun was low by the time Slimak had finished his last bit of harrowing near the highroad. At the moment when he stopped he heard the new cow low. Her voice pleased him and softened his heart a little.

' Three cows is more than two,' he thought, 4 people will respect me more. But the money . . . ah well, it 's all my own fault ! '

He remembered how many times he had said that he must have another cow and that field, and

THE OUTPOST 23

had boasted to his wife that people had encouraged him to carve his own farm implements, because he was so clever a b it.

She had listened patiently for two or three years ; now at last she took things into her own hands and told him to buy the cow and rent the field at once. Merciful Jesu ! what a hard woman ! What would she drive him to next ? He would really have to put up sheds and make farm carts !

Intelligent and even ingenious as Slimak was, he never dared to do anything fresh unless driven to it. He understood his farm work thoroughly, he could even mend the thrashing-machine at the manor-house, and he kept everything in his head, beginning with the rotation of crops on his land. Yet his mind lacked that fine thread which joins the project to the accomplishment. Instead of this the sense of obedience was very strongly developed in him. The squire, the priest, the Wojt, his wife were all sent from God. He used to say :

' A peasant is in the world to carry out orders.*

The sun was sinking behind the hill crest when ke drove his horses on to the highroad, and he was pondering on how he would begin his bargaining with Grochowski when he heard a guttural voice behind him, ' Heh ! heh ! '

Two men were standing on the highroad, one was grey-headed and clean-shaven, and wore a German peaked cap, the other young and tall, with a beard and a Polish cap. A two -horse vehicle was drawn up a little farther back.

' Is that your field ? ' the bearded man asked in an unpleasant voice.

' Stop, Fritz,' the elder interrupted him.

* What am I to stop for ? ' the other said angrily.

24 THE OUTPOST

* Stop ! Is this your land, gospodarz ? 5 the grey -haired man asked very politely.

* Of course it 's mine, who else should it belong to?5

Stasiek came running up from the field at that moment and looked at the strangers with a mixture of distrust and admiration.

' And is that your field ? ' the bearded one repeated.

* Stop, Fritz ! Is it your field, gospodarz ? ' the old man corrected him.

' It 's not mine ; it belongs to the manor.5 1 And whose is the hill with the pine ? 5 ' Stop, Fritz

* Oh well, if you are going to interrupt all tbe time, father. . . .5

* Stop ... is the hill yours, gospodarz ? '

* It 's mine ; no one else5s.5

* There you are, Fritz,5 the old man said in German ; * that 5s the very place for Wilhelm5s windmill.5

1 The reason why Wilhelm has not yet put up a windmill is not that there are no hills, but that he is a lazy fellow.5

* Don't be disagreeable, Fritz ! Then those fields beyond the highroad and the ravines are not yours, gospodarz ? '

' How should they be, when they belong to the manor ? 5

* Oh yes,5 the bearded one interrupted im- patiently ; ' everyone knows that he sits here in the manor-fields like a hole in a biidge. The devil take the whole business.'

1 Wai t, Fritz ! Do the manor -fields surround you on all sides, gospodarz ? 5

THE OUTPOST

25

c Of course.'

' Well, that will do,' said the younger man, drawing his father towards the carriage.

' God bless you, gospodarz,' said the elder, touching his cap.

' What a gossip you are, father ! Wilhelm will never do anything ; you may find him ever so many hills.'

' What do they want, daddy ? ' Stasiek asked suddenly.

' Ah, yes ! true ! '

Slimak was roused : ' Heh, sir ! '

The older man looked round.

' What are you asking me all those questions for ? '

' Because it pleases us to do so,' the younger man answered, pushing his father into the carriage.

* Farewell ! we shall meet again ! ' cried the old man.

The carriage rolled away.

' What a crew they are on the highroad to-day, it 's like a fair ! ' said Slimak.

* But who are those people, daddy ? '

* Those ? They must be Germans from Wolka, twelve miles from here.'

* Why did they ask so many questions about your land ? '

' They are not the only ones to do thafc, child. This country pleases people so much that they come over here from a long way off ; they come as far as the pine hill and then they go away again. That is all I know about them.'

He turned the horses homeward and was already forgetting the Germans. The cow and the field were engaging all his thoughts. Supposing he bought her ! he would be able to manure the

26 THE OUTPOST

ground better, and he might even pay an old man to come to the cottage for the winter and teach his boys to read and write. What would the other peasants say to that ? It would greatly improve his position ; he would have a better place in chuich and at the inn, and with greater prosperity he would be able to take more rest.

Oh, for more rest ! Slimak had never known hunger or cold, he had a good home and human affection, and he would have been quite happy if only his bones had not ached so much, and if he could have lain down or sat still to his heart's content.

CHAPTER III

RETURNING to the courtyard, Slimak let Maciek take the horses. He looked at the cow, which was tied to the fence. Despite the falling darkness he could see that she was a beautiful creature ; she was white with black patches, had a small head, short horns and a large udder. He examined her and admitted that neither of his cows were as fine as this one.

He thought of leading her round the yard, but he suddenly felt as if he could not move another step, his arms seemed to be dropping from their joints and his legs were sinking. Until sunset a man can go on harrowing, but after sunset it is no good try- ing to do anything more. So he patted the cow instead of leading her about. She seemed to under- stand the situation, for she turned her head towards him and touched his hand with her wet mouth. Slimak was so overcome with emotion that he

THE OUTPOST 27

very nearly kissed her, as if she were a human being.

' I must buy her,' he muttered, forgetting even his tiredness.

The gospodyni stood in the door with a pail of dishwater for the cattle.

' Maciek,' she called, ' when the cow has had a drink, lead her to the cowshed. The Soltys will stay the night ; the cow can't be left out of doors.'

' Well, what next ? ' asked Slimak.

' What has to be, has to be,' she replied. ' He wants the thirty-five roubles and the silver rouble for the halter — but,' she continued after a pause, ' truth is truth, she is worth it. I milked her, and though she had been on the road, she gave more milk than Lysa.'

' Have you asked him whether he won't come down a bit ? '

The peasant again felt the weariness in all his limbs. Good God ! how many hours of sleep would have to be sacrificed, before he could make another thirty-five roubles !

' Not likely ! It 's something that he will sell her to us at all ; he keeps on saying he promised her to Gryb.'

Slimak scratched his head.

' Come, Josef, be friendly and drink vodka with him, then perhaps the Lord Jesus will give him reflection. But keep looking at me, and don't talk too much ; you will see, it will turn out all right.'

Maciek led the cow to the shed ; she looked about and whisked her tail so heartily that Slimak could not take his eyes off her.

* It 's God's will,' he murmured. ' I'll bargain for her.'

28 THE OUTPOST

He crossed himself at the door, but his heart was trembling in anticipation of all the difficulties.

His guest was sitting by the fire and admonishing Magda in fatherly fashion to be faithful and obedient to her master and mistress.

' If they order you into the water — jump into the water ; if they order you into the fire — go into the fire ; and if the mistress gives you a good hiding, kiss her hand and thank her, for I tell you : sacred is the hand that strikes. . . .'

As he said this the red light of the fire fell upon him ; he had raised his hand and looked like a preacher.

Magda fancied that the trembling shadow on the wall was repeating : e Sacred is the hand that strikes ! '

She wept copiously ; she felt she was listening to a beautiful sermon, but at the same time blue stripes seemed to be swelling on her back at his words. Yet she listened without fear or regret, only with dim gratitude, mingled with recollections of her childhood.

The door opened and Slimak said :

' The Lord be praised.'

' In all eternity/ answered Grochowski. When he stood up, his head nearly touched the ceiling.

' May God repay you, Soltys, for coming to us,' said Slimak, shaking his hand.

' May God repay you for your kindness in receiving me.'

' And say at once, should you be uncomfortable.'

' Eh ! I'm not half so comfortable at home, and it 's not only to me but also to the cow that you are giving hospitality.'

' Praise God that you are satisfied.'

THE OUTPOST 29

' I am doubly satisfied, because I see how well you are treating Magda. Magda ! fall at your master's feet at once, for your father could not treat you better. And you, neighbour, don't spare the strap.'

' She's not a bad girl,' said Slimak.

Sobbing heartily the girl fell first at her uncle's feet, then at the gospodarz's, and then escaped into the passage. She hugged herself and still emitted great sobs ; but her eyes were dry. She began calling softly in a mournful voice : ' Pig ! pig ! pig ! ' But the pigs had turned in for the night. Instead Jendrek and Stasiek with the dog Burek emerged from the twilight. Jendrek wanted to push her over, but she gave him a punch in the eye. The boys seized her by the arms, Burek followed, and shrieking and barking and inextricably entwined so that one could not tell which was child and which was dog, all four melted into the mists that were hanging over the meadows.

Sitting by the stove, the two gospodarze were talking.

* How is it you are getting rid of the cow ? '

' You see, it 's like this. That cow is not mine, it belongs to Magda, but my wife says she doesn't care about looking after somebody else's cow, and the shed is too small for ours as it is. I don't pay much attention to her usually, but it happens that there is a bit of land to be sold adjoining Magda's. Komara, to whom it belonged, has drunk himself to death. So I am thinking : I will sell the cow and buy the girl another acre — land is land.'

' That 's true ! ' sighed Slimak.

' And as there will be new servituty, the girl wi]l get even more.'

30 THE OUTPOST ,

' How is that ? ' Slimak became interested.

' They will give you twice as much as you possess ; I possess twenty-five acres, so I shall have fifty;- How many have you got ? '

' Ten.' '

' Then you will have twenty, and Magda will get another two and a half with her own.'

' Is it certain about the servituty ? '

' Who can tell ? some say it is, others laugh about it. But I am thinking I will buy this land while there is the chance, especially as my wife does not wish it.'

' Then what is the good of buying the land if you will shortly get it for nothing ? '

* The truth is, as it 's not my money I don't care how I spend it. If I were you I shouldn't be in a hurry to rent from the manor either ; there is no harm in waiting. The wise man is never in a hurry. '

' No, the wise man goes slowly,' Slimak deliber- ated.

The gospodyni appeared at that moment with Maciek. They went into the alcove, drew two chairs and the cherry wood table into the middle of it, covered it with a cloth and placed a petroleum lamp without a chimney on it.

'Come, Soltys,' called the gospodyni, 'you will have supper more comfortably in here.'

Maciek, with a broad smile, retired awkwardly behind the stove as the two gospodarze went into the alcove.

' What a beautiful room,' said Grochowski, looking round, ' plenty of holy pictures on the walls, a painted bed, a wooden floor and flowers in the windows. That must be your doing, gospodyni ? '

' Why, yes,' said the woman, pleased, * he is

THE OUTPOST 31

always at the manor or in the town and doesn't care about his home ; it was all I could do to make him lay the floor. Be so kind as to sit near the stove, neighbour, I'll get supper.'

She poured out a large bowl of peeled barley soup and put it on the table, and a small one for Maciek.

' Eat in God's name, and if you want anything, say so.'

' But are not you going to sit down ? '

' I always eat last with the children. Maciek, you may take your bowl.'

Maciek, grinning, took his portion and sat down on a bench opposite the alcove, so that he could see the Soltys and listen to human intercourse, for which he was longing. He looked contentedly from behind his steaming bowl at the table ; the smoking lamp seemed to him the most brilliant illumination, and the wooden chairs the height of comfort. The sight of the Soltys, who was lolling back, filled him with reverence. Was it not he who had driven him to the recruiting-office when it was the time for the drawing of lots ? who 'had ordered him to be taken to the hospital and told him he would come out completely cured ? who collected the taxes and carried the largest banner at the pro- cessions and intoned ' Let us praise the Holy Virgin ' ? And now he, Maciek Owczarz, was sitting under one roof with this same Grochowski.

How comfortable he made himself ! Maciek tried to lean back in the same fashion, but the scandalized wall pushed him forward, reminding him that he was not the Soltys. So although his back ached, he bent still lower and hid his feet in their torn boots under the bench. Why should

32 THE OUTPOST

he be comfortable ? It was enough if the master and the Soltys were. He ate his soup and listened with both ears.

' What makes you take the cow to Gryb ? ' asked the gospodyni.

4 Because he wants to buy her.'

' We might buy her ourselves.'

/Yes, that might be so,' put in Slimak; 'the girl is 'here, the cow should be here too.'

' That's right, isn't it, Maciek ? ' asked the woman.

' Oho, ho ! ' laughed Maciek, till the soup ran out of his spoon.

' What 's true is true,' said Grochowski ; ' even Gryb ought to understand that the cow ought to be where the girl is.'

c Then sell her to us,' Slimak said quickly.

Grochowski dropped his spoon on the table and his head on his chest. He reflected for a while, then he said in a tone of resignation :

f There 's no help for it ; as you are quite decided I must sell you the cow.'

' But you'll take off something for us, won't you ? ' hastily added the woman in an ingratiating tone.

The Soltys reflected once more.

' You see, it 's like this ; if it were my cow I would come down. But she belongs to a poor orphan. How could I harm her ? Give me thirty- five paper roubles and a silver rouble and the cow will be yours.'

' That 's too much,' sighed Slimak.

' But she is worth it ! ' said the Soltys.

' Still, money sits in the chest and doesn't eat/

' Neither will it give milk.'

k I should have to rent the field.'

THE OUTPOST 33

' That will be cheaper than buying fodder.'

A long silence ensued, then SJimak said :

' Well, neighbour, say your last word.'

' I tell you, thirty-five paper roubles and a silver rouble. Gryb will be angry, but I'll do this for you.'

The gospodyni now cleared the bowl off the table and returned with a bottle of vodka, two glasses, and a smoked sausage on a plate.

' To your health, neighbour,' said Slimak, pour- ing out the vodka.

' Drink in God's name ! '

They emptied the glasses and began to chew the dry sausage in silence. Maciek was so affected by the sight of the vodka that he folded his hands on his stomach. It struck him that those two must be feeling very happy, so he felt happy too.

' I really don't know whether to buy the cow or not,' said Slimak ; ' your price has taken the wish from me.'

Grochowski moved uneasily on his chair.

' My dear friend,' he said, ' what am I to do ? this is the orphan's affair. I have got to buy her land, if for no other reason but because it annoys my wife.'

' You won't give thirty-five roubles for an acre.'

' Land is getting dearer, because the Germans want to buy it.'

' The Germans ? '

* Those who bought Wolka. They want other Germans to settle near here.'

' There were two Germans near my field asking me a lot of questions. I didn't know what they wanted.'

' There you are ! they creep in. Directly one

230 n

34 THE OUTPOST

has settled, others come like ants after honey, and then the land gets dearer.'

* Do they know anything about peasants' work ? '

* Rather ! They make more profits than we who are born here. The Germans are clever ; they have a lot of cattle, sow clover and carry on a trade in the winter. We can't compete with them.'

' I wonder what their religion is like ? They talk to each other like Jews.'

' Their religion is better than the Jews',' the Soltys said, after reflecting ; ' but what is not Catholic is nothing. They have churches with benches and an organ; but their priests are married and go about in overcoats, and where the blessed Host ought to be on the altar they have a crucifix, like ours in the porch.'

' That 's not as good as our religion.'

' Why ! ' said Grochowski, ' they don't even pray to the Blessed Mother.'

The gospodyni crossed herself.

' It 's odd that the Merciful God should bless such people with prosperity. Drink, neighbour ! '

' To your health ! Why should God not bless them, when they have a lot of cattle ? That 's at the bottom of all prosperity.'

Slimak became pensive and suddenly struck his fist on the table.

' Neighbour,' he cried, raising his voice, ' sell me the cow ! '

' I will sell her to you,' cried Grochowski, also striking the table.

' I'll give you . . . thirty-one roubles ... as I love you.' Grochowski embraced him.

1 Brother . . . give me . . . thirty . . . and four paper roubles and a silver rouble for the halter.'

THE OUTPOST 35

The tired children cautiously stole into the room ; the gospodyni poured out some soup for them and told them to sit in the corner and be quiet. And quiet they were, except at one moment when Stasiek fell off the bench and his mother slapped Jendrek for it. Maciek dozed, dreaming that he was drinking vodka. He felt the liquor going to his head and fancied himself sitting by the Soltys and embracing him. The fumes of the vodka and the lamp were filling the room. Slimak and Grochowski moved closer together.

' Neighbour . . . Soltys,' said Slimak, striking the table again, ' I'll give you whatever you wish, your word is worth more than money to me, for you are the cleverest man in the parish. The Wojt is a pig . . . you are more to me than the Wojt or even the Government Inspector, for you are cleverer than they are ... devil take me ! '

They fell on each other's shoulders and Gro- chowski wept.

' Josef, brother, . . . don't call me Soltys but brother . . . for we are brothers ! '

' Wojciek . . . Soltys . . . say how much you want for the cow. I'll give it you, I'll rip myself open to give it you . . . thirty-five paper roubles and a silver rouble.'

' Oh dear, oh dear ! ' wailed the gospodyni. ' Weren't you letting the cow go for thirty-three roubles just now, Soltys ? '

Grochowski raised his tearful eyes first to her, then to Slimak.

' Was I ? . . . Josef . . . brother . . . I'll give you the cow for thirty- three roubles. Take her ! let the orphan starve, so long as you, my brother, get a prime cow.'

36 THE OUTPOST

Slimak beat a tattoo on the table.

1 Am I to cheat the orphan ? I won't ; I'll give you thirty-five . . .'

' What are you doing, you fool ? ' his wife inter- rupted him.

' Yes, don't be foolish,' Grochowski supported her. ' You h#ve entertained me so finely that I'll give you the cow for thirty-three roubles. Amen ! that 's my last word.'

'I won't ! ' shouted Slimak. 'Am I a Jew that I should be paid for hospitality ? '

' Josef ! ' his wife said warningly.

' Go away, woman ! ' he cried, getting up with difficulty; ' I'll teach you to mix yourself up in my affairs.'

He suddenly fell into the embrace of the weeping Grochowski.

' Thirty-five

' Thirty-three . . .' sobbed the Soltys ; ' may I not burn in hell ! '

' Josef/ his wife said, ' you must respect your guest ; he is older than you, and he is Soltys. Maciek, help me to get them into the barn.'

' I'll go by myself,' roared Slimak.

' Thirty-three roubles . . .' groaned Grgchowski, ' chop me to bits, but I won't take a grosz more . . . I am a Judas ... I wanted to cheat you. I said I was taking the cow to Gryb . . . but I was bringing her to you . . . for you are my brother . . .'

They linked arms and made for the window. Maciek opened the door into the passage, and after several false starts they reached the courtyard. The gospodyni took a lantern, rug and pillow, and followed them. When she reached the yard she saw Grochowski kneeling and rubbing his eyes with

THE OUTPOST 37

his sukmana and Slimak lying on the manure heap. Maciek was standing over them.

' We must do something with them,' he said to the gospodyni ; ' they 've drunk a whole bottle of vodka.' .

' Get up, you drunkard,' she cried, ' or I'll pour water over your head.'

' I'll pour itv over you, I'll give you a whipping presently ! ' her husband shouted back at her.

Grochowski fell on his neck.

' Don't make a hell of your house, brother, or grief will come to us both.'

Maciek could not wonder enough at the changes wrought in men by vodka. Here was the Soltys, known in the whole parish as a hard man, crying like a child, and Slimak shouting like the bailiff and disobeying his wife.

' Come to the barn, Soltys,' said Slimakowa, taking him by one arm while Maciek took the other. He followed like a lamb, but while she was preparing his bed on the straw, he fell upon the threshing-floor and could not be moved by any manner of means.

'Go to bed, Maciek,' said the gospodyni; 'let that drunkard lie on the manure-heap, because he has been so disagreeable.'

Maciek obeyed and went to the stable. When all was quiet, he began for his amusement to pretend that he was drunk, and acted the part of Slimak or the Soltys in turns. He talked in a tearful voice like Grochowski : ' Don't make a hell of your house, brother . . .' and in order to make it more real he tried to make himself cry. At first he did not succeed, but when he remembered his foot, and that he was the most miserable creature, and

38 THE OUTPOST

the gospodyni hadn't even given him a glass of vodka, the tears ran freely from his eyes, until he too went to sleep.

About midnight Slimak awoke, cold and wet, for it had begun to rain. Gradually his aching head remembered the Soltys, the cow, the barley soup and the large bottle of vodka. What had become of the vodka ? He was not quite certain on this point, but he was quite sure that the soup had disagreed with him. ,

' I always say you should not eat hot barley soup at night,' he groaned.

He was no longer in doubt whether or no he was lying on the manure-heap. Slowly he walked up to the cottage and hesitated on the doorstep ; but the rain began to faJl more heavily. He stood still in the passage and listened to Magda's snoring ; then he cautiously opened the door of the room.

Stasiek lay on the bench under the window, breathing deeply. There was no sound from the alcove, and he realized that his wife was not asleep.

' Jagna, make room . . . ' he tried to steady his voice, but he was seized with fear.

There was no answer.

* Come . . . move up . . . '

* Be off with you, you tippler, and don't come near me.'

' Where am I to go ?'

' To the manure-heap or the pigsty, that 's your proper place. You threatened me with the whip ! I'll take it out of you ! '

' What 's the use of talking like that, when nothing is wrong? ' said Slimak, holding his aching head.

' Nothing wrong ? You insisted on paying

THE OUTPOST 39

thirty-five paper roubles and a silver rouble when Grochowski was letting the cow go for thirty-three roubles. Nothing wrong, indeed ! do three roubles mean nothing to you ? '

Slimak crept to the bench where Stasiek lay and touched his feet.

' Is that you, daddy ? ' the boy asked, waking up.

' Yes, it 'B I.'

' What are you doing here ? '

' I'm just sitting down ; something is worrying me inside.'

The boy put his arms round his neck.

' I'm so glad you have come,' he said ; ' those two Germans keep coming after me.'

' What Germans ? '

' Those two by our field, the old one and the man with the beard. They don't say what they want, but they are walking on me.'

' Go to sleep, child ; there are no Germans here/

Stasiek pressed closer to him and began to chatter again :

' Isn't it true, daddy, that the water can see ? '

' What should it see ? '

' Everything — everything — the sky, the hills ; it sees us when we follow the harrows.'

' Go to sleep. Don't talk nonsense.'

' It does, it does, daddy, I've watched it myself/ he whispered, going to sleep.

The room was too hot for Slimak ; he dragged himself up and staggered to the barn, where he fell into a bundle of straw.

' But what I gave for the cow I gave for her/ he muttered in the direction of the sleeping Grochowski.

40 THE OUTPOST

CHAPTER IV

SLIMAKOWA came to the barn early the next morning and called her husband. ' Are you going to be long idling there ? '

' What 's the matter ? '

' It 's time to go to the manor-house.'

* Have they sent for me ? '

' Why should they send for you ? You have got to go to them and see about the field.'

Slimak groaned, but came out on to the thresh- ing-floor. His face was bloated, he looked ashamed of himself, and his hair was full of straw.

' Just look at him,' jeered his wife: 'his sukmana is dirty and wet, he hasn't taken off his boots all night, and he scowls like a brigand. You are more fit for a scarecrow in a flaxfield than for talking to the squire. Change your clothes and go.'

She returned to the cowshed, and a weight fell off Slimak's mind that the matter had ended there. He had expected to be jeered at till the afternoon. He came out into the yard and looked round. The sun was high, the ground had dried after the rain ; the wind from the ravines brought the song of birds and a damp, cheerful smell ; the fields had become green during the night. The sky looked as if it had been freshened up, and the cottage seemed whiter.

* A nice day,' he murmured, gaining courage, and went indoors to dress. He pulled the straw out of his hair and put on a clean shirt and new boots. He thought they did not look polished enough, so he took a piece of tallow and rubbed it well first over his hair, then over his boots. Then he stood

THE OUTPOST 41

in front of the glass and smiled contentedly at the brilliance he reflected from head to foot.

His wife came in at that moment and looked disdainfully at him.

' What have you been doing to your head ? You stink of tallow miles off. You'd better comb your hair.'

Slimak, silently acknowledging the justice of the remark, took a thick comb from behind the looking- glass and smoothed his hair till it looked like polished glass, then he applied the soap to his neck so energetically that his fingers left large, dark streaks.

' Where is Grochowski ? ' he asked in a more cheerful voices for the cold water had added to his good temper.

' He has gone.'

' What about the money ? '

' I paid him, but he wouldn't take the thirty- three roubles ; he said that Jesus Christ had lived in this world for thirty-three years, so it would not be right for him to take as much as that for the cow.'

' Very proper,' Slimak agreed, wishing to impress her with his theological knowledge, but she turned to the stove and took off a pot of hot barley soup. Offering it to him with an air of indifference : 4 Don't talk so much,' she said. ' Put something hot inside you and go to the manor-house. But just try and bargain as you did with the Soltys and I shall have something to say to you.'

He sat humbly, eating his soup, and his wife

took some money from the chest. ' Take these

ten roubles,' she said, ' give them to the squire

himself and promise to bring the rest to-morrow.

C 3

42 THE OUTPOST

But mind what he asks for the field, and kiss his hands, and embrace his and the lady's feet, so that he may let you off at least three roubles. Will you remember ? '

' Why shouldn't I remember ? '

He was obviously repeating his wife's admoni- tions, for he suddenly stopped eating and tapped' the table rhythmically with the spoon.

' Well, then, don't sit there and think, but put on your sukmana and go. And take the boys with you.'

' What for ? '

' What for ? They are to support you when you ask the squire, and Jendrek will tell me how you have bargained. Now do you know what for?'

' Women are a pest ! ' growled Slimak, when she had unfolded her carefully laid plans. ' Curse her, how she lords it over me ! You can see that her father was a bailiff.'

He struggled into his sukmana, which was brand new and beautifully embroidered at the collar and pockets with coloured thread ; put on a broad leather belt, tied the ten roubles up in a rag and slipped them into his sukmana. The children had long been ready, and at last they started.

They had no sooner gone than loneliness began to fill Slimakowa's heart. She went outside the gate and watched them ; her husband, with his hands in his pockets, was strolling along the road, Jendrek on his right and Stasiek on his left. Presently Jendrek boxed Stasiek's ears and as a result he was walking on the left and Stasiek on the right. Then Slimak boxed both their ears, after which they were both walking on the left, Jendrek

THE OUTPOST 43

in the ditch, so that he could threaten his brother with his fist.

' Bless them, they always find some nice amuse- ment for themselves,' she whispered, smiling, and went back to put on the dinner.

Having settled the misunderstanding between his sons, Slimak sang softly to himself :

'Your love is no courtier, my own heart's desire, He 's riding a pony on his way to the squire.'

Then in a more melancholy strain :

' Oh dearie, dearie me, Thia is great misery. What shall I do ? . . . '

He sighed, and felt that no song could adequately express his anxiety. Would the squire let him have the field ? They were just passing it ; he was almost afraid to look at it, so beautiful and un- attainable did it seem. All the fines he had had to pay for his cattle, all the squire's threats and ad- monitions came into his mind. It struck him that if the field lay farther off and produced sand instead of good grass, he would have a better chance.

' Eh, I don't care ! ' he cried, throwing up his head with an air of indifference ; ' they've often asked me to take it.'

That was so, but it had been at times when he had not wanted it ; now that he did, they would bargain hard, or not let him have it at all. Who could tell why that should be so ? It was a law of nature that landlords and peasants were always at cross purposes.

He remembered how often he had charged too much for work done, or how often the gospodarze had refused to come to terms with the squire about

44 THE OUTPOST

rights of grazing or wood-gathering in the forests, and he felt contrite. Good Lord ! how beautifully the squire had spoken to them : ' Let us help each other and live peaceably like good neighbours.'

And they had answered : 'What 's the good of being neighbours ? A nobleman is a nobleman and a peasant is a peasant. We should prefer peasants for neighbours and you would prefer noblemen.' Then the squire had cited : ' Remember, the run- away goat came back to the cart and said, " Put me in." But I shall say you nay.' And Gryb, in the name of them all, had answered : ' The goat will come, your honour, when you throw your forests open.'

The squire had said nothing, but his trembling moustaches had warned them that he would not forget that answer.

' I always told G-ryb not to talk with a long tongue,' Slimak sighed. ' Now it is I who will have to suffer for his impudence.'

A new idea came into his head. Why should he not pay for the field in work instead of cash ? The squire might accept it, for he wasn't half a bad gentleman. It was true, the other gospodarze looked down upon him, because he was the only one who hired himself out for work; but whatever happened, the squire would always be the squire, and they the gospodarze. He hummed again, but under his breath, so that the boys should not hear him :

' The cuckoo cuckooed in the forest, Say the neighbours, I am the dullest.'

Suddenly he turned upon Stasiek, and wanted to know why he was dragging along as if he were being taken to jail, and didn't talk.

THE OUTPOST 45

' I ... I am wondering why we are going to the manor ? '

' Don't you want to go ? '

' No ; I am afraid.'

' What is there to be afraid of ? ' snapped Slimak, but he himself was shivering.

' You see, my boy,' he continued, more kindly, ' we have bought the new cow from the Soltys and we shall want more hay, so I am going to ask the squire to let me rent the field.'

' I see. . . . But, daddy, I am always wondering what the grass thinks when the cows chew it up.'

' What should it think ? It doesn't think at all.'

' But, daddy, why shouldn't it think ? When people are standing round the church in a crowd, they look like grass from a distance, all red and yellow, like flowers in a field. If some horrible cow came and lapped them up with her tongue, wouldn't they be able to think ? '

' People would scream, but the grass says nothing.'

' It does say something ! A dry stick cracks when you tread on it, and a fresh branch cries and clings to the tree when you tear it off, and the grass squeaks and holds on with its feet, . . . and . . .'

' Oh ! you are always saying queer things,' interrupted his father ; ' and you, Jendrek, are you glad that we are going to the manor-house ? '

' Is it I who is going or you ? ' said Jendrek, shrugging his shoulders. ' I shouldn't go.'

' Well, what would you do ? '

' I should take the hay and stack it in the yard ; then let them come ! '

' You would dare to cut the squire's hay ? '

46 THE OUTPOST

' How is it his ? Has he sown the grass ? or is the field near his house ? '

* Don't you see, silly, that the meadow is his just as well as his other fields ? '

1 They are his, so long as no one takes them. Our land and our house were his once, now they are

g)urs. Why should he be better off than we are ? e does nothing, yet he has enough land for a hundred peasants.'

' He has it because he has it, because he is a gentleman.'

' Pooh ! If you wore a coat, and your trousers outside your boots, you would be a gentleman ; but for all that you wouldn't have the land.'

' You are stupid,' said Slimak, getting angry.

' I know I am stupid, that is because I can't read or write, but Jasiek Gryb can, and therefore he is clever, and he says there must be equality, and there will be when the peasants have taken the land from the nobility.'

' Jasiek had better leave off taking money from his father's chest before he disposes of other people's property ! He might give mine to Maciek and take the squire's for himself, but he would never give his own away. Let it be as God has ordered.'

' Did God give the land to the squire ? '

' God has ordered that there should not be equality in the world. A pine is tall, a hazel is low, the grass is still lower. Look at sensible dogs. When a pail of dish-water is brought out to them, the strongest drinks first, and the others stand by and lick their lips, although they know that he will take the best part ; then they all take their turn. If they start quarrelling, they upset the pail and the strong get the better of the weak.

THE OUTPOST 47

If people were to say to each other : Disgorge what you have swallowed, the strong would drive off the weak and leave them to starve.'

' But if God has given the land to the squire,, how can they begin to distribute it to the people now ? '

' They distribute it so that every one should get what is right for him, not that he should take what he likes.'

His son's amazing views added a new worry to Slimak's mind.

' The rascal ! listening to people of that sort f he'll never make, a peasant ; it 's a mercy he hasn't stolen yet.'

They were nearing the drive to the manor-house, and Slimak was walking more and more slowly ; Stasiek looked more and more frightened, Jendrek alone kept his saucy air.

Through the dark branches of old lime-trees the roof and chimneys of the manor became visible. Suddenly two shots rang out.

' They are shooting ! ' cried Jendrek excitedly, and ran forward. Stasiek caught hold of his father's pocket. Slimak called Jendrek, who returned sulkily. They were now on the terrace, where the manor-fields stretched on either side. Lower down lay the village, still lower the field by the river, in front of them was the manor, with the outbuildings, enclosed by a railing.

' There ! that 's the manor-house,' said Slimak to Stasiek. ' Isn't it beautiful ? '

' Which one is it ? J

' Why ! the one with pillars in front.'

Another shot rang out, and they saw a man in fanciful sportsman's dress.

48 THE OUTPOST

* The horseman of yesterday/ cried Jendrek.

' Ah, that freak ! ' said Slimak, scrutinizing him with his head on one side ; ' he'll bring me bad luck about the field.'

' He has a splendid gun,' cried Jendrek ; l but what is he shooting ? There 's nothing but sparrows here.'

1 Perhaps he is shooting at us ? ' suggested Stasiek timidly.

' Why should he be shooting at us ? ' his father re- assured him ; ' shooting at people isn't allowed. It 's true there is no knowing what a lunatic might do.J

The sportsman approached, loading his gun ; the tattered remains of some sparrows hung from his bag.

' The Lord be praised,' said Slimak, taking off his cap.

' How do you do, citizen ? ' replied the sportsman, touching his jockey cap.

' What a lovely gun ! ' sighed Jendrek.

' Do you like it ? Eh, wasn't it you who picked up my cap the other day ? I am in your debt ; here you are.' He handed Jendrek a twenty-kopek piece. ' Is that your father ? Citizen, if you want to be friends with me, do not bow so low, and cover your head. It is time that these survivals of servitude should be forgotten ; they can only do us both harm. Cover yourself, I beg you.'

Slimak tried to do as he was told, but his hand refused obedience.

' I feel awkward, sir, standing before you with my cap on,' he said.

' Oh, hang hereditary social differences ! ' ex- claimed the young man, snatching the cap from Slimak's hands and putting it on his head.

THE OUTPOST 49

' Hang it all ! ' thought the peasant, unable to follow the democrat's intentions.

' What are you going to the manor for ? ' asked . the latter. ' Have you come on business with my brother-in-law ? '

* We want to beg a favour of the squire ' — Slimak refrained with difficulty from bowing again — ' that he should let us rent the field close to my property.'

1 What for ? '

' We've bought a new cow.'

* How much cattle have you ? '

* The Lord Jesus possesses five tails in my gospodarstwo, two horses and three cows, not counting the pigs.'

' And have you much land ? '

' I wish to God I had, but I have only ten acres, and those are growing more sterile every year.'

' That 's because you don't understand agricul- ture. Ten acres is a large property ; in other countries several families live comfortably on that ; here it is not enough for one. But what can you expect if you sow nothing but rye ? '

1 What else should I sow, sir ? Wheat doesn't do very well.'

' Vegetables, my friend, that does the trick ! The market gardeners near Warsaw pay thirty ©r forty roubles an acre rent and do excellently wefl.'

jSlimak hung his head. He was much perturbed, for he had arrived at the conclusion that the squire would not let him have the field, because he had so .much land already, or that he would ask him thirty or forty roubles' rent. What other .object could the young gentleman possibly have for saying such strange things ?

50 THE OUTPOST

They were approaching the entrance to the garden.

' I see my sister is in the garden ; my brother-in- 'law is sure to be about too. I will go and tell him of your business.'

Slimak bowed low, but inwardly he thought : ' May the pestilence take him ! He is impertinent to my wife, stirs up the boy, and puts my cap on my head ; but he wants to squeeze money out of me, all the same. I knew he would bring me bad luck/

Sounds of an American organ which the squire was playing came from the house.

' Daddy, daddy, they are playing ! ' cried Stasiek in great excitement ; he was flushed, and trembled with emotion, even Jendrek was affected. Slimak took off his cap and said a prayer for deliverance from the evil spell of the young gentle- man.

When the organ stopped, they watched this same young gentleman talking to his sister in the garden.

* Look at the lady, dad,' said Jendrek; ' she is just like a horsefly, yellow with black spots, and thin in the waist and fat at the end.'

The democrat was putting Slimak's case before his sister, and complained of the signs of servility with which he met at every turn. He said they spoilt his temper.

' But what can I do ? ' said the lady.

' Go up to them and give them courage.'

* I like that ! ' she said. ' I arranged a treat for our farm-labourers' children to encourage them, and next day they plundered my peach trees. Go to them ? I've done that too. I once went into a cottage where a child was ill, and my clothes

THE OUTPOST 51

smelt so strongly that I had to give them to my maid. No, thank you ! '

' All the same, I beg you to do something for these people.'

Their conversation had been in French while they were approaching the railings.

' Oh, it 's Slimak.' The lady raised her. glasses. ' Well, my good man, my brother wants me to do something for you. Have you got a daughter ? '

' I haven't, my lady,' said Slimak, kissing the hem of her dress.

' That 's a pity, I might have taught her to do beadwork. Perhaps I could teach the boys to read ? '

' They are wanted at home, my lady; the elder one is useful already, and the younger one looks after the pigs in the fields.'

' Do something for them yourself,' she said to her brother in French.

' What are they plotting against me ? ' thought Slimak.

The squire now came out and joined the group. Slimak began bowing again, Stasiek's eyes filled with tears, even Jendrek lost his self-assurance. The conversation reverted into French, and the democrat warmly supported Slimak's cause.

' All right, I'll let him have the field,' said the squire ; ' then there will be an end to the trespassing ; besides, he is the most honest man in the village.'

When Slimak's suspense had become so acute that he had thoughts of returning home without having settled the business, the squire said :

' So you want me to let you have the field by the river ? '

' If you will be so kind, sir.'

1 And if you will kindly take off three roubles/

52 THE OUTPOST

Jendrek added quickly. Slimak's blood ran cold ; the squire exchanged glances with his wife.

' What does that mean ? ' he asked. ' From what am I to take off three roubles ? '

Involuntarily Slimak's hand reached for his belt, but he recollected himself ; he made up his mind in despair to tell the truth.

' If you please, sir, don't take any notice of that puppy ; my wife has been at me for not bargaining well, and she told me to get you to take three roubles off the rent, and now this young scoundrel pmts me to shame.'

' Mother told me to look after you.'

Slimak became absolutely tongue-tied, and the party on the other side of the railing were convulsed with laughter.

1 Look,' said the squire in French, ' that is the peasant all over. He won't allow you to speak a word to his wife, but he can't do anything without her, and doesn't understand any business what- soever without her explanations.'

' Lovely ! ' laughed his wife, ' now, if you did as I tell you, we should have left this dull place long ago and gone to Warsaw.'

' Don't make the peasant out to be an idiot/ remonstrated his brother-in-law.

' No need for me to do that ; he is an idiot. Our peasants are all muscle and stomach ; they leave reason and energy to their wives. Slimak is one of the most intelligent, yet I will bet you any- thing that I can immediately give you a proof of his being a donkey. Josef,' he said, turning to Slimak, ' your wife told you to drive a good bargain ? '

' Certainly, sir, what is true is true.'

THE OUTPOST 53

' Do you know what Lukasiak pays me yearly ? '

' They say ten roubles.'

' Then you ought to pay twenty roubles for the two acres.'

' If you will be lenient, sir,' began Slimak.

' . . . and let me off three roubles,' completed the squire. Slimak looked confused.

' Very good, I will let you off three roubles ; you shall pay me seventeen roubles yearly. Are you satisfied ? '

Slimak bowed to the ground and thought: ' What is he up to ? He is not bargaining I '

' Now, Slimak,' continued the squire, ' I will make you another proposal. Do you know what Gryb paid me for the two acres he bought ? '

' Seventy roubles.'

' Just so, and he paid for the surveyor and the lawyer. I will sell you those two acres for sixty roubles and let you off all expenses, so you would gain a clear twenty roubles against Gryb's bargain. But I make one condition, you must decide at once and without consulting your wife ; to-morrow my conditions wouldn't be the same.'

Slimak's eyes blazed ; he fancied he saw quite elearly now that there was a conspiracy against him.

* That 's not a handsome thing to offer, sir,' he said, with a forced smile ; ' you yourself consult with the lady and the young gentleman.'

' There you are ! Isn't he a finished idiot ? '

His brother-in-law tapped Slimak on the shoul- der. ' Agree to it, my friend ; you'll have the best of the bargain. Of course he agrees',' he said, turning to the squire.

' Well, Josef, will you buy it ? Do you agree to my conditions ? '

54 THE OUTPOST

' I'm not such a fool,' thought Slimak, and aloud : ' It wouldn't be fair to buy it without my wife.'

' Very well, I'll let it to you. Give me your earnest-money and come for the receipt to-morrow. There you have the peasant, my democrat ! '

Slimak paid the ten roubles and glared at the retreating party.

' Ah ! you'd like to cheat a peasant, but he has got too much sense ! It 's true, then, what Grochowski said about the land-distribution. Sixty roubles for a field worth seventy, indeed ! '

All the same he could not quite get rid of the thought that it might have been a straightforward offer. He felt hot all over and wanted to shout or run after the squire. At that moment the young man hastily turned back.

' Buy that field,' he said, quite out of breath ; 1 my brother-in-law would still consent if you asked him.'

In an instant Slimak's distrust returned.

' No, sir ; it wouldn't be fair.'

' Cattle ! ' murmured the democrat, and turned his back. The bargain had disappeared.

' Let's go home, boys,' and under his breath : ' Damn the aristocracy ! ' When they were nearing their home, the boys ran on ahead, for they were hungry.

' What is this Jendrek tells me ? They wanted to sell you the land for sixty roubles ? '

' That is so,' he replied, rather frightened; ' they are afraid of the new land-distributions. They are clever too ! They knew all about my business beforehand, and the squire had set his brother-in- law on to me.'

THE OUTPOST 55

' What ! that fellow who spoke to me by the

river

' That same fool. He gave Jendrek twenty kopeks and put my cap on my head, and he told me ten acres was a fortune.'

' A fortune ? His brother-in-law has a thousand and says he hasn't enough ! You did quite right not to buy the field ; there is something shady about that business.'

But his wife's satisfaction did not completely reassure Slimak ; he was wretchedly in doubt. His dinner gave him no pleasure, and he strolled about the house without knowing what to do. When his irritation had reached its climax, a happy thought struck him.

' Come here, Jendrek,' he said, unbuckling his belt.

' Oh, daddy, don't,' wailed the boy, although he had been prepared for the last two hours.

' You won't escape it this time ; lie down on the bench. You've been laughing at the young gentleman and even making fun of the squire.'

Stasiek, in tears, embraced his father's knees, Magda ran out of the room, Jendrek howled.

' I tell you, lie down ! I'll teach you to run about with that scoundrel of a Jasiek ! '

At that moment Slimakowa tapped at the window. ' Josef, come quick, something has happened to the new cow, she 's staggering.'

Slimak let go of Jendrek and ran to the cowshed. The three cows were standing quietly chewing the cud.

' It has passed off,' said the woman ; ' but I tell you a minute ago she was staggering worse than you did yesterday.'

56 THE OUTPOST

He examined the cow carefully, but could find nothing wrong with her.

Jendrek had meanwhile slipped away, his father's temper had cooled, and the matter ended as usual on these occasions.

CHAPTER V

IT was the height of summer. The squire and his wife had gone away, and the villagers had forgotten all about them. New wool had begun to grow on the shorn sheep.

The sun was so hot that the clouds fled from the sky into the woods, and the ground protected itself with what it could find ; with dust on the highroads, grass in the meadows, and heavy crops in the fields.

But human beings had to toil their hardest at this time. At the manor they were cutting clover and hoeing turnips ; in the cottages the women were piling up the potatoes, while the old women were gathering mallows for cooling drinks and lime-blossoms against the ague. The priest spent all his days tracking and taking swarms of bees ; Josel, the innkeeper, was making vinegar. The woods resounded with the voices of children picking berries.

The corn was getting ripe, and Slimak began to cut the rye the day after the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary. He was in a hurry to get the work done in two or three days, lest the corn should drop out in the great heat, and also because he wanted to help with the harvesting ,at the manor.

THE OUTPOST 57

Usually he, Maciek, and Jendrek worked together, alternately cutting and binding the sheaves. Slimakowa and Magda helped in the early morning and in the afternoon.

On the first day, while the five were working together, and had reached the top of the hill, Magda noticed some men showing against the dark background of the wood, and drew Slimakowa's attention to them. They all stopped work and looked.

' They must be peasants,5 Maciek said ; 'they are wearing white smocks.'

' They do not walk like peasants,' said Slima- kowa.

' But they are wearing boots up to their knees,' said Slimak.

' Look ! they are carrying poles^ Jendrek cried ; ' and they are dragging a rope after them.'

' Ah, they must be surveyors. What can they be after ? ' reflected Slimak.

' Surely, they are taking a fresh survey ; now, Josef, aren't you glad you did not buy that land ? ' asked his wife.

They took up their work again, but did not get on very fast, for they could not resist throwing sidelong glances at the approaching men. It was now quite plain that they were not peasants, for they wore white coats and had black ribbons on their hats. Slimak's attention became so absorbed that he lagged behind, in the place which Magda usually occupied, instead of being at the head of the party. At last he cried :

' Jendrek, stop cutting ; run and find out what they are doing, and if they are really measuring for a new land-distribution.'

58 THE OUTPOST

Jendrek was off in a moment, and had soon reached the men. He forgot to come back. The little party watched him talk to the men for a few moments, and then becoming busy with the poles.

* I say ! } cried Slimakowa, * he is quite one of the party ! Just look, how he is running along with the line, as if he had never done anything else in his life. He has never seen a book except in the Jew's shop window, and yet he can run better than any of them. I wish I had told him to put on his boots ; they will never take him for the son of a gospodarz.'

She watched Jendrek with great pride until the party disappeared behind the line of the hill.

' Something will come of this,' said Slimak, ' either good or bad.'

' Why should it be bad ? ' asked his wife ; ' they may add to our land ; what do you think, Maciek ? '

The farm labourer looked embarrassed when he was asked for his opinion, and pondered until the perspiration flowed from his head.

' Why should it be good ? ' he said at last. 1 When I was working for the squire at Krzeszowie, and he went bankrupt, just such men as these came and measured the land, and soon afterwards we had to pay a new tax. No good ever comes of anything new.'

Jendrek returned towards sunset, quite out of breath. He called out to his mother that the gentlemen wanted some milk, and had given him twenty kopeks.

' Give them to your mother at once,' said Slimak ; ' they are not for you, but for the milk.'

Jendrek was almost in tears. ' Why should I give

THE OUTPOST 59

up my money ? They say they will pay for every- thing they have, and even want to buy butter and fowls.'

' Are they traders ? '

' Oh no, they are great gentlemen, and live in a tent and keep a cook.'

' Gipsies, I dare say ! '

Slimakowa had run off at top speed, and now the men appeared, perspiring, sunburnt, and dusty ; nevertheless, they impressed Slimak and Maciek so much with their grand manner that they took off their caps.

1 Which of you is the gospodarz ? '

' I am.'

* How long have you lived here ? ' ' From my childhood.'

* And have you ever seen the river in flood ? '

* I should think I had ! '

' Do you remember how high the water rises ? '

* Sometimes it overflows on to that meadow deep enough to drown a man.'

' Are you quite sure of that ? '

' Everybody knows that. Those gaps in the hill have been scooped out by the water.'

' The bridge will have to be sixty feet high.'

' Certainly,' said the elder of the two men. ' Can you let us have some milk, gospodarz ? '

' My wife is getting it ready, if it pleases the gentlemen to come.'

The whole party turned towards the cottage, for the drinking of milk by such distinguished gentlemen was an important event ; it was decided to stop harvesting for the day.

Chairs and the cherrywood table had been placed in front of the cottage. A rye loaf, butter, white

y h

60 THE OUTPOST

cheese with caraway seeds, and a bowl of butter- milk were in readiness.

' Well,' said the men, looking at each other in surprise, * a nobleman could not have received us better.'

They ate heartily, praised everything, and finally asked Slimakowa what they owed her.

' May it be to the gentlemen's health ! '

' But we cannot fleece you like this, gospodyni.'

* We don't take money for hospitality. Besides, ou have already given my boy as much as if he ad been harvesting a whole day.'

4 There ! ' whispered the younger man to the elder, ' isn't that like Polish peasants ? '

To Slimak they said : * After such a reception we will promise to build the station quite near to you.'

* I don't know what you mean ? '

* We are going to build a railway.' Slimak Scratched his head.

* What makes you so doubtful ? ' asked the men. ' I'm thinking that this will turn out badly for

as,' Slimak replied ; ' I shan't earn anything by driving.'

The men laughed. ' Don't be afraid, my friend, it will be a very good thing for everybody, especially for you, as you will be near the station. And first of all you will sell us your produce and drive us. Let us begin at once, what do vou want for your fowls ? '

' I leave it to you, sir.*

* Twenty-five kopeks, then.'

Slimakowa looked at her husband. This was double the amount they had usually taken. ' You can have them, sir,' she cried.

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' That scoundrel of a Jew charged us fifty,' murmured the younger man.

They agreed to buy butter, cheese, crayfish, cucumber, and bread ; the younger man expressing surprise at the cheapness of everything, and the elder boasting that he always knew how to drive a good bargain. When they left, thev paid Slima- kowa sixteen paper roubles and half a silver rouble, asking her if she was sure that she was not cheating herself.

' God forbid,' she replied. * I wish I could sell every day at that price.'

' You will, when we have built the railway.'

* May God bless you ! ' She made the sign of the cross over them, the farm labourer knelt down, and Slimak took off his cap. They all accompanied their guests as far as the ravines.

When they returned, Slimak set everyone to work in feverish haste.

' Jagna, get the butter ready ; Maciek and Jendrek, go to the river for the crayfish ; Magda, take three score of the finest cucumbers, and throw in an extra ten. Jesus Mary ! Have we ever done business like this ! You will have to buy yourself a new silkker chief, and a new shirt for Jendrek.'

' Our luck has come,' said Slimakowa, c and I must certainly buy a silkkerchief, or else no one in the village will believe that we have made so much money.'

* I don't quite like it that the new carriages will go without horses,' said Slimak ; ' but that can't be helped.'

When they took their produce to the engineers' encampment, they received fresh orders, for there

62 THE OUTPOST

were more than a dozen men, who made him their general purveyor. Slimak went round to the neighbouring cottages and bought what he needed, making a penny profit on every penny he spent, while his customers praised the cheapness of the produce. After a week the party moved further off, and Slimak found himself in possession of twenty-five roubles that seemed to have fallen from the sky, not counting what he had earned for the hire of his horses and cart, and payment for the days of labour he had lost. But somehow the money made him feel ashamed.

' Do you know, Jagna,' he said, ' perhaps we ought to go after the gentlemen and give them back their money.'

' Oh nonsense ! ' cried the woman, ' trading is always like that. What did the Jew charge for the chickens ? just double your price.'

' But it is the Jew's trade, and besides, he isn't a Christian.'

* Therefore he makes the greater profits. Come, Josef, the gentlemen did not pay for the things only, but for the trouble you took.'

This, and the thought that everybody who came from Warsaw obviously had much money to spend, reassured the peasant.

As he and the rest of the family were so much occupied with their new duties, all the harvesting fell to Maciek's share. He had to go to the hill from early dawn till late at night, and cut, bind, and shock the sheaves single-handed. But in spite of his industry the work took longer than usual, and Slimak hired old Sobieska to help him. She came at six o'clock, armed with a bottle of ' remedy ' for a wound in the leg, did the work of

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two while she sang songs which made even Maciek blush, until the afternoon, and then took her ' remedy '. The cure then pulled her down so much that the scythe fell from her hand.

* Hey, gospodarz ! ' she would shout. ' You are raking in the money and buying your wife silk handkerchiefs, but the poor farm labourers have to creep on all fours. It 's " Cut the corn, Sobieska and Maciek, and I will brag about like a gentle- man I " You will see, he will soon call himself "Pan Slimaczinski." x He is the devil's own son, for ever and ever. Amen.s

She would fall into a furrow and sleep until sun- down, though she was paid for a full day's work. As she had a sharp tongue, Slimak had no wish to offend her. When he haggled about the money, she would kiss his hand and say : ' Why should you fall out with me, sir ? Sell one chicken more and you'll be all right.'

* Cheek always pays ! ' thought Maciek.

On the following Sunday, when everyone was ready to go to church, Maciek sat down and sighed heavily.

' Why, Maciek, aren't you going to church ? ' asked Slimak, seeing that something was amiss.

* How can I go to church ? You would be ashamed of me.'

' What 's the matter with you ? '

c Nothing is the matter with me, but my feet keep coming through my boots.'

1 That's your own fault, why didn't you speak before ? Your wages are due, and I will give you six roubles.'

Maciek embraced his feet. . . .

1 The ending ski denotes nobility.

64 THE OUTPOST

' But mind you buy the boots, and don't drink away the money.'

They all started ; Slimak walked with his wife, Magda with the boys, and Maciek by himself at a little distance. He dreamt that Slimak would become a gentleman when the railway was finished, and that he, Maciek, would then wait at table, and perhaps get married. Then he crossed him- self for having such reckless ideas. How could a poor fellow like him think of marrying ? Who would have him ? Probably not even Zoska, although she was wrong in .the head and had a child.

This was a memorable Sunday for Slimak and his wife. She had bought a' silkkerchief at a stall, given twenty kopeks to the beggars, and sat down in the front pew, where Grybina and Lukasiakowa had at once made room for her. As for Slimak, everyone had something to say to him. The publican reproached him for spoiling the prices for the Jews, the organist reminded him that it would be well to pay for an extra Mass for the souls of the departed, even the policeman saluted him, and the priest urged him to keep bees : ' You might come round to the Vicarage, now that you have money and spare time, and perhaps buy a few hives. It does no harm to remember God in one's prosperity and keep bees and give wax to the Church.'

Gryb came up with an unpleasant smile. ' Surely, Slimak, you will treat everybody all round to-day, since you've been so successful ? '

' You don't treat the village when you have made a good bargain, neither shall I,' Slimak snubbed him.

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* That 's not surprising, since I don't make as much profit on a cow as you make on a chicken.'

' All the same, you're richer than other people.' ' There you're right,' Wisniewski supported Slimak, asking him for the loan of a couple of roubles at the same time. But when Slimak re- fused, he complained of his arrogance.

Maciek did not get much comfort out of the money given him for boots. He stood humbly at the back of the church, so that the Lord should not see his torn sukmana. Then the beggars re- minded him that he never gave them anything. He went to the public-house to get change.

* How about my money, Pan Maciek ? ' said the publican.

* What money ? '

' Have you forgotten ? You owe me two roubles since Christmas.'

Maciek swore at him. ' Everybody knows that one can only get a drink from you for cash.'

' That 's true on the whole. But when you were tipsy at Christmas, you embraced and kissed me so many times, I couldn't help myself and gave you credit.'

' Have you got witnesses ? ' Maciek said sharply. ' I tell you, old Jew, you won't take me in.'

The publican reflected for a moment.

' 1 have no witnesses,' he said, ' therefore I will never mention the matter to you again. Since you swear to me here in the presence of other

rople, that you did not kiss me and beg for credit, make you a present of your debt, but it 's a shame,' the publican added, spitting, ' that a man, working for such a respectable gospodarz as Slimak,

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should cheat a poor Jew. Don't ever set foot in my inn again ! '

The labourer hesitated. Did he really owe that money ?

' Well,' he said, * since you say I owe you the money, I will give it you. But take care God does not punish you if you are wronging me.' In his heart, however, he doubted whether God would ever punish any one on account of such a low creature as he was.

He was just leaving the inn sadly, when a band of Galician harvesters came in, They sat down at the table, discussing the profits that would be made from the building of the new railway.

Maciek went up to them, and seeing that their appearance was not much less ragged than his own, he asked if it was true that there were railroads l in the world ? ' No one,' he said, ' would have iron enough to cover roads, not even the government.'

The labourers laughed, but one, a huge fellow with a soldier's cap, said : * What is there to laugh at ? Of course a clodhopper does not know what a railway is. Sit down, brother, and I'll tell you all about it, but let 's have a bottle of vodka.'

Before Maciek had decided, the publican had brought the vodka.

* Why shouldn't he have vodka ? ' he said, * he is a good-natured fellow, he has stood treat before.'

What happened afterwards, Maciek did not clearly remember. He thought that some one told him how fast an engine goes, and that some one else shouted, he ought to buy boots. Later on he was seized by his arms and legs and carried to the stable. One thing was certain, he returned without 1 The Polish word for ' railway ' is 'iron road '.

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a penny. Slimakowa would not look at him; and Slimak said : ' You are hopeless, Maciek, you'll never get on, for the devil always leads you into bad company.'

So it happened that Maciek went without new boots, but a few weeks later he acquired a possession he had never dreamt of.

It was a rainy September evening ; the more the day declined*, the heavier became the layers of clouds. Lower and lower they descended, torn and gloomy. Forest, hill, and valley, even the fence dissolved gradually into the grey veil. The heavy, persistent rain penetrated everything ; the ground was full of it, soaked through like kneaded dough ; the road was full of it, running with yellow sti earns; the yard, where it stood in large puddles, was full of it. Roofs and walls were dripping, the animals' skins and even human souls were satu- rated with it.

Everybody in the gospodarstwo was thinking vaguely of supper, but no one was in the mood for it. The gospodarz yawned, the gospodyni was cross, the boys were sleepy, Magda did even less than usual. They looked at the fire, where the potatoes were slowly boiling, at the door, to watch Maciek come in, or at the window, where the raindrops splashed, falling from the higher, the lower, and the lowest clouds, from the thatch, from the fading leaves of the trees, and from the window frames. When all these splashes mingled into one, they sounded like approaching footfalls. Then the cottage door creaked. ' Maciek/ muttered the gospodarz. But Maciek did not appear.

A hand was groping along the passage wall. * What 's the matter with him, has he gone

68 THE OUTPOST

blind ? ' impatiently exclaimed the gospodyni, and opened the door.

Something which was hot Maciek was standing in the passage, a shapeless figure, not tall, but bulky. • It was wrapped in a soaking wet shawl. Slimakowa stepped back for a moment, but when the firelight fell into the passage, she discerned a human face in the opening of the shawl, copper- coloured, with a broad nose and slanting eyes that were hardly visible under the swollen eyelids.

' The Lord be praised,' said a hoarse voice.

' You, Zoska ? ' asked the astonished gospodvni.

' It is I.'

* Come in quickly, you are letting all the damp into the room.'

The new-comer stepped forward, but stood still, irresolutely. She held a child in her arms whose face was as white as chalk, with blue lips ; she. drew out one of its arms ; it looked like a stick.

* What are you doing out in weather like this ? ' asked Slimak.

' I'm going after a place.' She looked round, and decided to crouch down on the floor, near the wall. ' They say in the village that you have a lot of money now ; I thought you might want a girl.'

' We don't want a girl, there is not even enough for Magda to do. Why are you out of a place ? '

* I've been harvesting in the summer, but now no one will take me in with the child. If I were alone I could get along.'

Maciek came in, and not being aware of Zoska's presence, started on seeing a crouching form on the floor.

' What do you want ? ' he asked.

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69

' I thought Slimak might take me on, but he doesn't want me with the child.'

1 Oh Lord ! ' sighed the man, moved by the sight of poverty greater than his own.

e Why. Maciek, that sounds as if you had a bad conscience,' said the gospodyni disagreeably.

* It makes one feel bad, to see such wretched- ness,' he murmured.

' The man whose fault ifc is would feel it most ! '

' It isn't my fault, but I'm sorry for them all the same.'

' Why don't you take the child, then, if you are so sorry ? ' sneered Slimakowa, ' you'll give him the child, Zoska, won't you ? Is it a boy ? '

' A girl,' whispered Zoska, with her eyes fixed on Maciek, ' she is two years old ... yes, he can have her, if he likes.'

' She'd be a deal of trouble to me,' muttered the labourer, ' all the same, it 's a pity.'

* Take her,' repeated Zoska, ' Slimak is rich, you are rich. . . .'

' Oh yes, Maciek is rich,' laughed Slimakowa, ' he drinks through six roubles in one Sunday.'

' If you can drink through six roubles, you can take her,' Zoska cried vehemently, pulling the child out of the shawl and laying it on the floor. It looked frightened, but did not utter a sound.

' Shut up, Jagna, and don't talk nonsense,', said Slimak. Zoska stood up and stretched herself.

' Now I shall be easy for once,' she said, * I've often thought I'd like to throw her away into a ditch, but you may as well have her. Mind you look after her properly ! If I come back and don't find her, I'll scratch out your eyes.'

' You are crazy,' said Slimak, ' cross yourself.'

70 THE OUTPOST

' I won't cross myself, I'll go away. . . .'

* Don't be a fool, and sit down to supper,' angrily cried the gospodyni. She took the saucepan ofi so impetuously, that the hot ashes flew all over the stove, and one touched Zoska's bare feet.

* Fire ! . . . fire ! ' she shouted, and escaped from the room, ' the cottage is on fire, everything is on fire!'

She staggered out like a drunken person, and they could hear her voice farther and farther o fl, shouting ' Fire ! ' until the rain drowned it.

* Eun, Maciek, and bring her back,' cried Slima- kowa. But Maciek did not stir.

' You can't send a man after a mad woman on a night like this,' said Slimak.

' Well, what am I to do with this dog's child ? Do you think I shall feed her ? '

' I dare say you won't throw her over the fence. You needn't worry, Zoska will come back for her.'

' I don't want her here for the night.'

1 Then what are you going to do with her ? ' said Slimak, getting angry.

' I'll take her to the stable,' Maciek said in a low voice, lifting the child up awkwardly. He sat down on the bench with it and rocked it gently on his knees. There was silence in the room. Pre- sently Magda, Jendrek, and Stasiek emerged from .their corner and stood by Maciek, looking at the little creature.

* She is as thin as a lath,' whispered Magda.

* She doesn't move or look at us,' remarked Jendrek.

' You must feed her from a rag,' advised Magda, ' 1 will find you a clean one.'

' Sit down to supper,' ordered Slimakowa, but

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her voice sounded less angry. She looked at the

child, first from a distance, then she bent over it

and touched its drawn yellow skin.

' That bitch of a mother ! ' she murmured,

* Magda, put a little milk in a saucer, and you,

Maciek, sit down to supper.'

1 Let Magda sit down, I'll feed her myself.'

' Feed her ! ' cried Magda, ' he doesn't even

know how to hold her.' She tried to take the

child from him.

* Don't pull her to pieces,' said the gospodyni, ' pour out the milk and let Maciek feed her, if he is so keen on it.'

The way in which Maciek performed his task elicited much advice from Magda. ' He has poured the milk all over her mouth . . . it's running on to the floor . . . why do you stick the rag into her nose ? '

Although he felt that he was making a bad nurse, Maciek would not let the child out of his hands. He hastily ate a little soup, left the rest, and went to his night- quarters in the stable, sheltering the child under his sukmana. When he entered, one of the horses neighed, and the other turned his head and sniffed at the child in the darkness.

* That 's right, greet the new stable-boy who can't even hold a whip,' laughed Maciek.

The rain continued to fall. When Slimak looked out later on, the stable door was shut, and he fancied he could hear Maciek snoring.

He returned into the room.

' Are they all right in there ? ' asked his wife.

* They are asleep,' he replied, and bolted the door.

72 THE OUTPOST

The cocks had crowed midnight, the dog had barked his answer and squeezed under the cart for shelter, everybody was asleep. Then the stable door creaked, and a shadow stole out, moved along the walls and disappeared into the cowshed. It was Maciek. He drew the whim- pering child from under his sukmana and put its mouth to the cow's udder.

' Suck, little one,' he whispered, * suck the cow, because your mother has left you.'

A few moments later smacking sounds were heard.

And the rain continued to drip . . . drip . . . drip, monotonously.

CHAPTER VI

THE announcement that the railway was to be built in the spring caused a great stir in the village. The strangers who went about buying land from the peasants were the sole topic of conversation at the spinning-wheels on winter evenings. One poor peasant had sold his barren gravel hill, and had been able to purchase ten acres of the best land with the proceeds.

The squire and his wife had returned in Decem- ber, and it was rumoured that they were going to sell the property. The squire was playing the American organ all day long, as usual, and only laughed when the people timidly asked him whether there was any truth in the report. It was the lady who had told her maid in the evening how gay the life in Warsaw would be ; an hour

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later the bailiff's clerk, who was the maid's sweet- heart, knew of it ; early the next morning the clerk repeated it to the bailiff and to the foreman as a great secret, and by the afternoon all the employes and labourers were discussing the great secret. In the evening it had reached the inn, and then rapidly spread into the cottages and to the small town.

The power of the little word ' Sale ' was truly marvellous.

It made the farm labourers careless in their work and the bailiff give notice at New Year ; it made the mute hard-working animals grow lean, the sheaves disappear from the barn and the corn from the granary ; it made off with the reserve cart-wheels and harnesses, pulled the padlocks off the buildings, took planks out of the fences, and on dark nights it swallowed up now a chicken, now even a sheep or a small pig, and sent the servants to the public-house every night.

A great, a sonorous word ! It sounded far and wide, and from the little town came the trades- people, presenting their bills. It was written on the face of every man, in the sad eyes of the neglected beasts, on all the doors and on the broken window-panes, plastered up with paper. There were only two people who pretended not to hear it, the gentleman who played the American organ and the lady who dreamt of going to Warsaw. When the neighbours asked them, he shrugged his shoulders, and she sighed and said : ' We should like to sell, it 's dull living in the country, but my father in Warsaw has not yet had an offer/

Slimak, who often went to work at the manor, had also heard the rumour, but he did not believe D3

74 THE OUTPOST

it. When he met the squire he would look at him and think : ' He can't help being as he is, but if such a misfortune should befall him, I should be grieved for him. They have been settled at the manor from father to son ; half the churchyard is full of them, they have all grown up here. Even a stone would fret if it were moved from such a place, let alone a man. Surely, he can't be bankrupt like other noblemen ? It 's well known that he has money.'

The peasant judged his squire by himself. He did not know what it meant to have a young wife who was bored in the country.

While Slimak put his trust in the squire's un- ruffled manner, cogitations were going on at the inn under the guidance of Josel, the publican.

One morning, half-way through January, old Sobieska burst into the cottage. Although the winter sun had not yet begun to look round the world, the old woman was flushed, and her eyes looked bloodshot. Her lean chest was insufficiently covered by a sheepskin as old as herself and a torn chemise.

' Here ! . . . give me some vodka and I'll give you a little bit of news,' she called out. Slimak was just going off to thresh, but he sat down again and asked his wife to bring the vodka, for he knew that the old woman usually knew what she was talking about.

She drank a large glassful, stamped her foot, gurgled ' Oo-ah ! ', wiped her mouth and said : ' I say ! the squire is going to sell everything.'

The thought of his field crossed Slimak's mind and made his blood run cold, but he answered calmly : ' Gossip ! '

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' Gossip ? ' the old woman hiccoughed, ' I tell you, it 's gospel truth, and I'll tell you more : the richer gospodarze are settling with Josel and Gryb to buy the whole estate and the whole village from the squire, so help me God ! '

' How can they settle that without me ? '

' Because they want to keep you out. They say you will be better off as it is, because you will be nearer to the station, and that you have already made a lot of money by spoiling other people's business.'

She drained another glass and would have said more, but was suddenly overcome, and had to be carried out of the room by Slimak.

He and his wife consulted for the rest of the day what would be the best thing to do under the circumstances. Towards evening he put on his new sukmana lined with sheepskin and went to the inn.

Gryb and Lukasiak were sitting at the table. By the light of the two tallow candles they looked like two huge boundary-stones in their grey clothes. Josel stood behind the bar in a dirty jersey with black stripes. He had a sharp nose, pointed beard, pointed curls, and wore a peaked cap ; there was something pointed also in his look.

The Lord be praised,' said Slimak. In Eternity,' Josel answered indifferently. What are the gospodarze drinking ? ' Tea,' the innkeeper replied. Then I will have tea too, but let it be as black as pitch, and with plenty of arrac.'

' Have you come to drink tea with us ? ' Josel taunted him.

76 THE OUTPOST

c No,' said Slimak, slowly sitting down, ' I've come to find out. . . .'

' What old Sobieska meant,' finished the inn- keeper in an undertone.

' How about this business ? is it true that you are buying land from the squire ? ' asked Slimak.

The two gospodarze exchanged glances with Josel, who smiled. After a pause Lukasiak re- plied :

' Oh, we are talking of it for want of something better to do, but who would have the money for such a big undertaking ? '

' You two between you could buy it ! '

1 Perhaps we may, but it would be for ourselves and those living in the village.'

' What about me ? '

' You don't take us into your confidence about your business affairs, so mind you keep out of ours.'

' It 's not only your affair, but concerns the whole village.'

' No, it 's nobody's but mine,' snapped Gryb.

' It 's mine just as much.'

' That is not so ! ' Gryb struck the table with his fist : if I don't like a man, he shan't buy, and there 's an end of it.'

The publican smiled. Seeing that Slimak was getting pale with anger, Lukasiak took Gryb by the arm.

' Let us go home, neighbour,' he said. ' What is the good of talking about things that may never come off ? Come along.'

Gryb looked at Josel and got up.

' So you are going to buy without me ? ' asked Slimak.

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' You bought without us last summer.5 They shook hands with the innkeeper and took no notice" of Slimak.

Josel looked after them until their footsteps could no longer be heard, then, still smiling, he turned to Slimak.

' Do you see now, gospodarz, that it is a bad thing to take the bread out of a Jew's mouth ? I have lost fifty roubles through you and you have made twenty-five, but you have bought a hundred roubles' worth of trouble, for the whole village is against you.'

' They really mean to buy the squire's land without me ? '

4 Why shouldn't they ? What do they care about your loss if they can gain ? '

' Well . . . well,' muttered the peasant sadly.

' I,' said Josel, ' might perhaps be able to arrange the affair for you, but what should I gain by it ? You have never been well disposed towards me, and you have already done me harm.'

' So you won't arrange it ? '

' I might, but on my own terms.'

1 What are they ? '

' First of all you will give me back the fifty roubles. Secondly, you will build a cottage on your land for my brother-in-law.'

' What f or ? ' '

' He will keep horses and drive people to and from the station.'

' And what am I to do with my horses ? '

' You have your land.'

The gospodarz got up. ' Aren't you going to give me any tea ? i

78 THE OUTPOST

' I haven't any in the house.'

' Very well ; I won't pay you fifty roubles, and I won't build a cottage for your brother- in-law.'

' Do as you please.' Slimak left the inn, 'banging the door.

Josel turned his pointed nose and beard in his direction and smiled.

In the darkness Slimak collided with a labourer from the manor who carried a sack of corn on his back ; presently he saw one of the servant girls hiding a goose under her sheepskin. When she recognized him she ran behind the fence. But Josel continued to smile. He smiled, when he paid the labourer a rouble for the corn, including the sack ; he smiled, when the girl handed over the goose and got a bottle of sour beer in return ; he smiled, when he listened to the gospodarze dis- cussing the purchase of the land, and he smiled when he paid old Gryb two roubles per cent., and took two roubles from young Gryb for every ten he lent him. His smile no more came off his face than his dirty jersey came off his back.

The fire was out and the children were asleep when Slimak returned home.

' Well ? ' asked his wife, while he was undressing in the dark.

' This is a trick of Josel's. He drives the others like a team of oxen.'

' They won't let you in ? '

c They won't, but I shall go to the squire about the field.'

' When are you going ? '

' To-morrow, else it may be too late.'

To-morrow came ; the day after came and

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went ; a week passed, but Slimak had not yet done anything. One day he said he must thresh for a corn dealer, the other day that he had a pain inside.

As a matter of fact, he neither threshed nor had a pain inside ; but something held him back which peasants call being afraid, gentlemen slack- ness, and scholars inertia.

He ate little, wandered round aimlessly, and often stood still in the snow-covered field by the river, struggling with himself. Reason told him that he ought to go to the manor and settle the matter, but another power held him fast ' and whispered : ' Don't hurry, wait another day, it will all come right somehow.'

' Josef, why don't you go to the squire ? ' his wife asked day after day.

One evening old Sobieska turned up again. She was suffering from rheumatism, and required treatment with a ' thimbleful ' of vodka which loosened her tongue.

' It was like this,' she began : ' Gryb and Lukasiak went with Grochowski, all three dressed as for a Corpus Christi procession. The squire received them in the bailiff's office, and Gryb cleared his throat and went for it. " We have heard, sir, that you are going to sell your family estate. Every man has a right to sell, and the other to buy. But it would be a pity to allow the land which your forefathers possessed, and which we peasants have cultivated, to fall into the hands of strangers who have no associations with old times. Therefore, sir, sell the land to us." I tell you,' Sobieska continued, ' he talked for an hour, like the priest in the pulpit ; at last Lukasiak got

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stiff in the back1, and they all burst out crying. Then they embraced the squire's feet, and he took their heads between his hands 2 and . . .'

' Well, and are they buying ? ' Slimak inter- rupted impatiently.

' Why shouldn't they buy ? Certainly they are buying. They are not yet quite agreed as to the price, for the squire wants a hundred roubles an acre, and the peasants are offering fifty ; but they cried so much, and talked so long about good feeling between peasants and landowners that the gospodarze will add another ten, and the squire will let them off the rest. Josel has told them to give that much and no more, and not to be in a hurry, then they'll be sure to drive a good bargain. He 's a damned clever Jew ! Since he has taken the matter in hand, people have flocked to the inn as if the Holy Mother were workin miracles there.'

' Is he still setting the others against me ? '

' He is not actually setting them against you, but he puts in a word now and then that you can no longer count as a gospodarz, since you have taken to trading. The others are even more angry with you than he is ; they can't forget that you sold chickens at just double the price you bought them for.'

The result of this news was that Slimak set out for the manor-house early the next day, and returned depressed in the afternoon. A large bowl of sauer- kraut presently made him willing to discourse.

' It was like this : I arrive at the manor, and

1 The peasants would stand bent all the time.

2 A nobleman, in order to show goodwill to his subordi- nates, slightly presses their heads between his hands.

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when I look up I see that all the windows of the large room on the ground floor are wide open. God forbid ! has some one died ? I think to myself. I peep in and see Mateus, the footman, in a white apron with brushes on his feet, skating up and down like the boys on the ice. " The Lord be praised, Mateus, what are you doing ? " I say. " In Eternity, I am polishing the floor," says he ; "we are going to have a big dance here to-night." " Is the squire up yet ? " " He is up, but the tailor is with him; he is trying on a Crakovian costume. My lady is going to be a gipsy. " "I want him to sell me that field," I say. Mateus says : " Don't be a fool ! how can the squire think of your field, when he is amusing himself making up as a Crakovian." So I go away from the window and stand about near the kitchen for a bit. They are bustling like anything, the fire is burning like a forge, and the butter is hissing. Presently Ignaz, the kitchen boy, comes out, covered with blood, as if he had been stuck. " Ignaz, for God's sake, what have you been doing ? " I ask. " I haven't been doing any- thing; it's the cook, he's been boxing my ears with a dead duck." " The Lord be praised it is not your blood. Tell me where I can find the squire." "Wait here," he says, "they'll bring in the boar, and the squire is sure to come and have a look at it." Ignaz runs off, and I wait and wait, until the shivers run down my back. But still I wait.'

' Well, and did you see the squire ? ' Slima- kowa asked impatiently.

{ Of course I saw him.'

' Did you speak to him ? '

' Rather ! '

' What did you settle ? '

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' Well ... ah ... I told him I wanted to beg a favour of him about the field, but he said, " Oh, leave me alone, I have no head for business to-day. " '

' And when will you go again ? '

Slimak held up his hands : ' Perhaps to-morrow, or the day after, when they have slept off their dance.'

That same day Maciek drove a sledge to the forest, taking with him an axe, a bite of food, and ' Silly Zoska's ' daughter. The mother had never asked after her, and Maciek had mothered the child ; he fed her, took her to the stable with him at night and to his work in the day-time.

The child was so weak that it hardly ever uttered a sound. Every one, especially Sobieska, had predicted her early death.

' She won't last a week.' . . . ' She'll die to- morrow.' . . . ' She 's as good as gone already.'

But she had lived through the week and longer, and even when she had been taken for dead once, she opened her tired eyes to the world again. Maciek paid no attention to these prognostications. 'Never fear,' he said, 'nothing will happen to her.' He continued to feed her in the cowshed after dark.

' What makes you take trouble about that wretched child, Maciek ? ' Slimakowa would say ; ' if you talked to her about the Blessed Bible itself she would take no notice ; she 's dreadfully stupid, I never saw such a noodle in all my life.'

' She doesn't talk, because she has sense,' said Maciek ; ' when she begins to talk she will be as wise as an old man.'

That was because Maciek was in the habit of talking to her about his work, whatever he might

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83

be doing, manuring, threshing, or patching his clothes.

To-day he was taking her with him to the forest, tied to the sledge, and wrapt in the remnants of his old sheepskin and a shawl. Uphill and down- hill over the hummocks bumped the sledge, until they arrived on level ground, where the slanting rays of the sun, endlessly reflected from the snow- crystals, fell into their eyes. The child began to cry.

Maciek turned her sideways, scolding : ' Now then, I told you to shut your eyes ! No man, and if he were the bishop himself, can look at the sun ; it 's God's lantern. At daybreak the Lord Jesus takes it into his hand and has a look round his gospodarstwo. In the winter, when the frost is hard, he takes a short cut and sleeps longer. But he makes up for it in the summer, and looks all over the world till eight o'clock at night. That 's why one should be astir from daybreak till sunset. But you may sleep longer, little one, for you aren't much use yet. Woa ! ' They entered the forest. ' Here we are ! this is the forest, and it belongs to the squire. Slimak has bought a cartload of wood, and we must get it home before the roads are too bad. Steady, lads ! ' They stopped by a square pile of wood. Maciek untied the child and put her in a sheltered place, took out a bottle of milk and put it to her lips. * Drink it and get strong, there will be some work for you. The logs are heavy, and you must lift them into the sledge. You don't want the milk ? Naughty girl ! Call out when you want it. ... A little child like that makes things cheerful for a man,' he reflected. ' Formerly there never was any one to open one's mouth to, now one can talk all the time. Now watch how the work

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should be done. Jendrek would pull the logs about, and get tired in no time and stop. But mind you take them from the top, carefully, and lift them into the sledge, one by one like this. Never be in a hurry, little one, or else the damned wood will tire you out. It doesn't want to go on to the sledge, for it has sense, and knows what to expect. We all prefer our own corner of the world, even if it is a bad one. But to you and me it 's all the same, we have no corner of our own ; die here or die there, it makes no difference.' Now and then he rested, or tucked the child up more closely.

Meanwhile, the sky had reddened, and a strong north-west wind sprang up, saturated with moisture. The forest, held in its winter sleep, slowly began to move and to talk. The green pine needles trembled, then the branches and boughs began to sway and beckon to each other. The tops, and finally the stems rocked forward and backward, as if they contemplated starting on a march. It was as if their eternal fixedness grieved them, and they were setting out in a tumultuous crowd to the ends of the world. Some- times they became motionless near the sledge, as though they did not wish to betray their secret to a human being. Then the tramp of countless feet, the march past of whole columns of the right wing, could be heard distinctly ; they approached, and passed at a distance. The left wing followed ; the snow creaked under their footsteps, they were already in a line with the sledge. The middle column, emboldened, began to call in mighty whispers. Then they halted angrily, stood still in their places and seemed to roar : * Go away ! go away, and do not hinder us ! '

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But Maciek was only a poor labourer, and though he was afraid of the giants, and would gladly have made room for them, he could not leave until he had loaded up his sledge. He did not rest now or rub his frozen hands ; he worked as fast as he could, so that the night and the winter storms should not overtake him.

The sky grew darker and darker with clouds ; mists rose in the forests and froze into fine crystals which instantly covered Maciek' s sukmana, the child's shawl, and the horses' manes with a crack- ling crust. The logs became so slippery that his hands could scarcely hold them ; the ground was like glass. He looked anxiously towards the setting sun : it was dangerous to return with a heavy load when the roads were in that condition. He crossed himself, put the child into the sledge, and whipped up the horses. Maciek stood in fear of many things, but most of all he feared the overturn- ing of a sledge or cart, and being crushed underneath.

When they were out of the wood the track became worse and worse. The rough-hewn runners constantly sank into snow-drifts and the sledge canted over, so that the poor man, trembling with fear and cold, had to prop it up with all his strength. If his twisted foot gave way, there was an end to him and the child.

From time to time the horses stopped dead, and Maciek ceased shouting. Then a great silence spread round him, only the distant roar of the forest, the whistling of the wind, and the whimpering of the child could be heard.

' Woa ! ' he began again, and the horses tugged and slipped where they stood, moved on a few steps, and stopped again.

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' To Thy protection we flee, Holy Mother of God ! ' he whispered, took his axe and cut into the smooth road in front of the horses.

It took him a long time to cover the short distance to the high road, but when they got there, the horses refused to go on at all. The hill in front of them was impassable. He sat down on the sledge, pondering whether Slimak would come to his assistance, or leave him to his fate. ' He'll come for the horses ; don't cry, little one, God won't forsake us.' While he listened, it seemed to him as if the whistling of the wind changed into the sound of bells. Was it his fancy ? But the bells never ceased ; some were deep-toned and some high-toned ; voices were intermixed with them. They approached from behind like a swarm of bees in the summer.

' What can it be ? ' said Maciek, and stood up.

Small flames shone in the distance. They dis- appeared among the juniper bushes, and then flickered up again, now high, now low, coming nearer and nearer, until a number of objects, running at full speed, could be seen in the un- certain light of the flames. The tumult of voices increased ; Maciek heard the clattering of hoofs, the cracking of whips.

' Heh ! stop . . . there 's a hill there ! >

' Look out ! don't be crazy ! '

' Stop the sledge, I shall get out ! '

' No, go on ! '

* Jesus Mary ! '

' Have the musicians been spilt yet ? '

' Not yet, but they will be.'

' Oh ... la la !'

Maciek now understood that this was a sleigh

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race. The teams of two- and four-horsed sleighs approached at a gallop, accompanied by riders on horseback carrying torches. In the thick mist it looked as if the procession appeared out of an abyss through a circular gate of fire. They bore straight down upon the spot where Maciek and his sledge had come to a standstill. Suddenly the first one stopped.

' Hey . . . what 's that ? '

' Something is in the wav.'

' What is it ? '

' A peasant with a cartload of wood.'

* Out of the way, dog. Throw him into the ditch ! '

' Shut up ! We'd better move him on.'

' That we will ! We are going to move the peasant on. Out of your sledges, gentlemen ! '

Before Maciek had recovered from his astonish- ment, he was surrounded by masked men in rich costumes with plumed hats, swords, guitars, or brooms. They seized his sledge and himself, pushed them to the top of the hill and down the other side on to level ground.

'Thank God!' thought the dazed man. 'If the devil hadn't led them this way, I might have been here till the morning. They are fine fellows ! '

' The ladies are afraid to drive down the hill,' some one shouted from the distance.

e Then let them get out and walk ! '

' The sledges had better not go down.'

'Why not ? Go on, Antoni !" '

' I don't advise it, sir.'

' Then get off and be hanged ! I'll drive myself ! J

Bells jingled violently, and a one-horse sledge passed Maciek like a whirlwind. He crossed himself.

88 THE OUTPOST

' Drive on, Andrei ! '

' Stop, Count ! It 's too risky ! '

' Go on ! '

Another sledge flew past.

' Bravo ! Sporting fellow ! '

' Drive on, Jacent ! '

Two sledges were racing each other, a driver and a mask in each. The mad race had made the road sufficiently safe for the other empty sledges to pass with greater caution.

' Now give your arm to the ladies ! A polo- naise ! Musicians ! '

The outriders with torches posted themselves along the road, the musicians tuned up, and couple after couple detached itself from the darkness like an iridescent apparition. They hovered past to the melancholy strains of the Oginski polonaise.

Maciek took off his cap, drew the child from under the sheepskin and stood beside his sledge.

' Now look, you'll never see anything so beautiful again. Don't be afraid ! '

An armoured and visored man passed.

' Do you see that knight ? Formerly people like that conquered half the world, now there are none of them left.5

A grey-bearded senator passed.

* Look at him ! People used to fear his judge- ment, but there are none like him left ! That one, as gaudy as a woodpecker, was a great nobleman once ; he did nothing but drink and dance ; he could drain a barrel at a bout, and he spent so much money that he had to sell his family estate, poor wretch ! There 's a Uhlan ; they used to fight for Napoleon and conquer all the nations, but there are no fighters left in the world. There 's a chimney

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sweep and a peasant . -. . but in reality they are all gentlemen amusing themselves.'

The procession passed ; fainter and fainter grew the strains of the Oginski polonaise ; with shouts and laughter the masks got back into the sleighs, hoofs clattered and whips cracked.

Maciek started cautiously homeward in the wake of the jingling sleighs. Distant flames were still twinkling ahead, and the wind carried faint sounds of merriment back to him. Then all was silent.

' Are they doing right ? ' he murmured, per- turbed.

For he recalled the portrait of the grey-headed senator in the choir of the church ; he had even prayed to it sometimes. . . . The bald-headed nobleman was there too, whom the peasants called ' the cursed man ', and the knight in armour who was lying on his tomb beside the altar of the Holy Martyr Apollonius. Then he remembered the friar who walked through the Vistula, and Queen Jadwiga who had brought salt from Hungary. And by the side of all these he saw his own old wise grandfather, Roch Owczarz, who had been a soldier under Napoleon, and came home without a penny, and in his old age became sacristan at the church, and explained all the pictures to the gospodarze so beautifully that he earned more money than the organist.

' The Lord rest his soul eternally ! '

And now these noblemen were amusing them- selves with sacred matters ! What would they do next ? . . .

Slimak met him when he was about a verst from the cottage.

' We have been- wondering if you had got stuck

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on the hill. Thank God you are safe. Did you see the sleigh race ? '

c Oho ! ' said Maciek.

' I wonder they did not smash you to pieces.'

e Why should they ? They even helped me up the hill.'

' Dear me ! And they didn't pull you about ? '

' They only pulled my cap over my ears.'

' That is just like them ; either they will smash you up, or else be kindness itself, it just depends what temper they're in.'

' But the way they drove down those hills made one's flesh creep. No sober man would have come out of it alive.'

Two sledges now overtook them ; there was one traveller in the first and two in the second.

' Can you tell me where that sleigh party was driving to ? ' asked the occupant of the first.

' To the squire's.'

' Indeed ! . . . Do you know if Josel, the inn- keeper, is at home ? '

' I dare say he is, unless he is off on some swindle or other.'

' Do you know if your squire has sold his estate yet ? ' asked a guttural voice from the second sledge.

' You shouldn't ask him such a question, Fritz/ remonstrated his companion.

' Oh ! the devil take the whole business ! ' replied Fritz.

' Aha, here they are again ! ' said Slimak.

' What do all those Old Testament Jews want ? ' asked Maciek.

' There was only one Jew, the others are Germans from Wolka.'

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c The gentlefolks never have any peace ; no sooner do they want to enjoy themselves, then the Jews drive after them,' said Maciek.

Indeed, the sledges conveying the travellers were now with difficulty driving towards the valley, and presently stopped at Josel's inn.

Barrels of burning pitch in front of the manor house threw a rosy glare over the wintry land- scape ; distant sounds of music came floating on the air.

Josel came out and directed the Jew's sledge to the manor. The Germans got out, and one of them shouted after the departing Jew : ' You will see nothing will come of it ; they are amusing them- selves.'

' Well, and what of that ? '

' A nobleman does not give up a dance for a business interview.'

' Then he will sell without it.'

' Or put you off/

' I have no time for that.'

The fa9ade of the manor-house glowed as in a bengal light ; the sleigh-bells were still tinkling in the yard, where the coachmen were quarrelling over accommodation for their horses. Crowds of village people were leaning against the railings to watch the dancers flit past the windows, and to catch the strains of the music. Around all this noise, brightness, and merriment lay the darkness of the winter night, and from the winter night emerged slowly the sledge, carrying the silent, meditating Jew.

His modest conveyance stopped at the gate, and he dragged himself to the kitchen entrance ; his whole demeanbur betrayed great mental and

92 THE OUTPOST

physical tiredness. He tried to attract the attention of the cook, but failed entirely ; the kitchen-maid also turned her back on him. At last he got hold of a boy who was hurrying across to the pantry, seized him by the shoulders, and pressed a twenty kopek-piece into his hand.

' You shall have another twenty kopeks if you will bring the footman.'

' Does your honour know Mateus ? ' The boy scrutinized him sharply.

' I do, bring him here.'

Mateus appeared without delay.

' Here is a rouble for you ; ask your master if he will see me, and I will double it.' The footman shook his head.

' The master is sure to refuse.'

* Tell him, it is Pan Hirschgold, on urgent business from my lady's father. Here is another rouble, so that you do not forget the name.'

Mateus quickly disappeared, but did not quickly return. The music stopped, yet he did not return ; a polka followed, yet he did not return. At last he appeared : ' The master asks you to come to the bailiff's office.' He took Pan Hirschgold into a room where several camp-beds had been made up for the guests. The Jew took off his expensive fur, sat down in an armchair by the fire and meditated.

The polka had been finished, and a vigorous mazurka began. The tumult and stamping in- creased from time to time ; commands rang out, and were followed by a noise which shook the house from top to bottom. The Jew listened indifferently, and waited without impatience.

Suddenly there was a great commotion in the

THE OUTPOST 93

passage ; the door was opened impetuously, and the squire entered.

He was dressed as a Crakovian peasant in a red coat covered with jingling ornaments, wide, pink- and-white-striped breeches, a red cap with a pea- cock's feather, and iron-shod shoes.

' How are you, Pan Hirschgold ? ' he cried good-humouredly, ' what is this urgent message from my father-in-law ? '

' Read it, sir/

' What, now ? I'm dancing a mazurka.'

' And I am building a railway.5

The squire bit his lip, and quickly ran his eye over the letter. The noise of the dancers in- creased.

' You want to buy my estate ? '

e Yes, and at once, sir.'

' But you see that I am giving a dance.'

' The colonists are waiting to come in, sir. If you cannot settle with me before midnight, I shall settle with your neighbour. He gains, and you lose.'

The squire was becoming feverish.

' My father-in-law recommends you highly . . . all the same, ... on the spur of the moment. . . .'

' You need only write a word or two.'

The squire dashed his red cap down on the table. ' Really, Pan Hirschgold, this is unbear- able ! '

' It 's not my fault ; I should like to oblige you, but business is pressing.'

There was another hubbub in the passage, and the Uhlan burst into the room. ' For heaven's sake, what are you doing, Wladek ? '

* Urgent business.'

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' But your lady is waiting for you ! '

' Do arrange for some one to take my place ; I tell you, it 's urgent.'

' I don't know how the lady will take it ! ' cried the retreating Uhlan.

The powerful bass voice of the leader of the mazurka rang out : ' Ladies' ronde ! '

' How much will you give me ? ' hastily began the squire. ' Rather an original situation ! ' he unexpectedly added, with humour.

' Seventy-five roubles an acre. This is my highest offer. To-morrow I should only give sixty-seven.'

1 En avant ! ' from the ball-room.

' Never ! ' cried the squire, ' I should prefer to sell to the peasants.'

' And get fifty, or at the outside sixty.'

' Or go on managing the estate myself.'

' You are doing that now . . . what is the result ? * 'What do you mean ? ' said the squire irritably, * it 's excellent soil. . . .'

' I know all about the property,' interrupted the Jew, ' from the bailiff who left at New Year.'

The squire became angry. ' I can sell to the colonists myself.'

' They may give sixty-seven, but meanwhile my lady is dying of boredom.'

4 Chaine to the left ! '

The squire became desperate. ' God, what am I to do ?'

' Sign the agreement. Your father-in-law ad- vises you to do so, and tells you that I shall pay the highest price.'

' Partagez ! '

Again the Uhlan violently burst into the room.

THE OUTPOST . 95

1 Wladek, you really must come ; the Count is mortally offended, and says he will take his fiancee away/

' Oh, confound it ! Pan Hirschgold, write the agreement at once, I will be back directly.'

Unmindful of the gaiety of the dance, the Jew calmly took an inkpot, pen, and paper out of his bag, wrote a dozen lines, and sat down, waiting for the noise to subside.

A quarter of an hour later the squire returned in the best of spirits.

* Eeady ? ' he asked cheerfully. ' Ready.'

The squire read the paper, signed, and said with a smile :

' What, do you think, is the value of this agree- ment ? '

* Perhaps the legal value is not great, but it has some value for your father-in-law, and he ... well, he is a rich man ! '

He blew on the signature, folded up the paper, and asked with a shade of irony : ' Well, and the Count ? '

' Oh, he is pacified.'

' He will want more pacifying presently, when his creditors become annoying. I wish you a pleasant night, sir.'

No sooner had the squire left the room, than Mateus, the footman, appeared, as if the ground had produced him. He helped the Jew into his coat.

1 Did you buy the estate, sir ? '

1 Why shouldn't I ? It 's not the first, nor will it be the last.'

He gave the footman three roubles. Mateus

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bowed to the ground and offered to call his

' Oh no, thank you,' said the Jew, ' I have left my own sledge in Warsaw, and I am not anxious to parade this wretched conveyance.'

Nevertheless, Mateus attended him deferentially into the yard.

In the ballroom polkas, valses, and mazurkas followed each other endlessly until the pale dawn appeared, and the cottage fires were lit.

Slimak rose with the winter sun, and whispering a prayer, walked out of the gate. He looked at the sky, then towards the manor-house, wondering how long the merrymaking was going to last.

The sky was blue, the first sun rays were bathing the snow in rose colour, and the clouds in purple, Slimak drew a deep breath, and felt that it was better to be out in the fresh air than indoors, dancing.

' Making themselves tired without need,' he thought, ' when they might be sleeping to their hearts' content ! ' Then he resumed his prayer. His attention was attracted by voices, and he saw two men in navy blue overcoats. When they caught sight of him, one asked at once :

' That is your hill, gospodarz, isn't it ? '

Slimak looked at them in surprise.

' Why do you keep on asking me about my property ? I told you last summer that the hill was mine.'

' Then sell it to us,' said the man with the beard.

* Wait, Fritz,' interrupted the older man.

' Oh bother ! are you going to gossip again, father ? '

' Look here, gospodarz,' said the father, ' we

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have bought the squire's estate. Now we want this hill, because we want to build a windmill. . . .'

' Gracious ! ' exclaimed the son disagreeably, ' have you lost your senses, father ? Listen ! we want that land ! '

' My land ? ' the peasant repeated in amaze- ment, looking about him, ' my land ? '

He hesitated for a moment, not knowing what to say. ' What right have you gentlemen to my land ? '

' We have got money.'

' Money ?...!!... Sell my land for money ? We have been settled here from father to son ; we were here at the time of the scourge of serfdom, and even then we used to call the land " ours ". My father got it for his own by decree from the Emperor Alexander II ; the Land Commission settled all that, and we have the proper documents with signatures attached. How can you say now that you want to buy my land ? '

The younger man had turned away indifferently during Slimak's long speech and whistled, the older man shook his fist impatiently.

' But we want to buy it ... pay for it ... cash ! Sixty roubles an acre.'

' And I wouldn't sell it for a hundred,' said Slimak.

' Perhaps we could come to terms, gospodarz.'

The peasant burst out laughing.

' Old man, have you lived so long in this world, and don't understand that I would not sell my land on any terms whatever ? '

' You could buy thirty acres the other side of the Bug with what we should pay you.'

' If land is so cheap the other side of the Bug,

230

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why don't you buy it yourself instead of coming here ? ' The son laughed.

' He is no fool, father ; he is telling you what I have been telling you from morning till night.'

The old man took Slimak's hand.

' Gospodarz,' he said, pressing it, ' let us talk like Christians and not like heathens. We praise the same God, why should we not agree ? You see, I have a son who is an expert miller, and I should like him to have a windmill on that hill. When he has a windmill he will grow steady and work and get married. Then I could be happy in my old age. That hill is nothing to you.'

' But it 's my land, no one has a right to it.'

' No one has a right to it, but I want to buy it.'

' Well, and I won't seU it ! '

The old man made a wry face, as if he were ready to cry. He drew the peasant a few steps aside, and said in a voice trembling with emotion : ' Why are you so hard on me, gospodarz ? You see, my sons don't hit it off with each other. The elder is a farmer, and I want to set up the younger as a miller and hare him near me. I haven't long to live, I am eighty years old, don't quarrel with me.'

' Can't you buy land elsewhere ? '

' Not very well. We are a whole community settling together; it would take a long time to make other arrangements. My son Wilhelm does not like farming, and unless I buy him a windmill he will starve or go away from me. I am an old man, sell me your land ! Listen,' he whispered, ' I will give you seventy-five roubles an acre. God is my witness, I am offering you more than the land is worth. .But you will let me have it, won't you ? You are an honest man and a Christian.'

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Slimak looked with astonishment and pity at the old man, from whose inflamed eyes the tears were pouring down.

' You can't have much sense, sir, to ask me such a thing,' he said. ' Would you ask a man to cut off his hand ? What could a peasant do without his land ? '

' You could buy twice as much. I will help you to find it.'

Slimak shook his head. ' You are talking as a man talks when he digs up a shrub in the woods. " Come," he says, " you shall be near my cottage ! " The shrub comes because it must, but it soon dies.'

The man with the beard approached and spoke to his father in German.

' So you won't sell me your land ? ' said the old man.

' I won't.'

' Not for seventy-five roubles ? '

'No.'

' And I tell you, you will sell it,' cried the younger man, drawing his father away. They went towards the bridge, talking German loudly.

The peasant rested his chin on his hand and looked after them ; then his eyes fell on the manor- house, and he returned to the cottage at full speed. ' Jagna,' he cried, ' do you know that the squire has sold his estate ? ' The gospodyni crossed herself with a spoon.

' In the name of the Father . . . Are you mad, Josef ? Who told you so ? '

' Two Germans spoke to me just now ; they told me. And, Jagna, they want to buy our land, our own land ! '

' You are off your head altogether ! ' cried the

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woman. ' Jendrek, go and see if there are any Germans about ; your father is talking nonsense.'

Jendrek returned with the information that he had seen two men in blue overcoats the other side of the bridge.

Slimak sat on the bench, his head drooping, his hands resting limply on his knees. The morning light had turned grey, and made men and objects look dull. The gospodyni suddenly looked atten- tively at her husband.

' Why are you so pale ? ' she asked. ' What is the matter ? '

' What is the matter ? A nice question for a clever woman to ask ! Don't you understand that the Germans will take the field away from us if the squire has sold it to them ? '

* Why should they ? We could pay the rent to them.'

The woman tried to talk confidently, but her voice was unsteady.

' You don't know what you're talking about ! Germans keep cattle and are sharp after grazing land. Besides, they will want to get rid of me.'

' We shall see who gets rid of whom ! ' Slima- kowa said sharply.

She came and stood in front of her husband, with her arms akimbo, gradually raising her voice.

' Lord, what a man ! He has only just looked at the Swabian1 vermin, and he has lost heart already. They will take away the field ? Well, what of that ? we will drive the cattle into it all the same.'

' They will shoot the cattle.'

' That isn't allowed.'

1 The Polish peasants call all Germans ' Swabians '.

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' Then they will go to law and worry the life out of me.'

' Very well, then we will buy fodder.'

' Where ? The gospodarze won't sell us any, and we shan't get a blade from the Germans.'

The breakfast was boiling over, but the house- wife paid no attention to it. She shook her clenched fists at her husband.

' What do you mean, Josef ! Pull yourself together ! This is bad, and that is no good ! . . . What will you do then ? You are taking the courage away from me, a woman, instead of making up your mind what to do. Aren't you ashamed before the children and Magda to sit there like a dying man, rolling your eyes ? Do you think I shall let the children starve for the sake of your Germans, or do you think I shall get rid of the cow ? Don't imagine that I shall allow you to sell your land ! No fear ! If I fall down dead and they bury me, I shall dig myself out again and prevent you from doing the children harm ! Why are you sitting there, looking at me like a sheep ? Eat your breakfast and go to the manor. Find out if the squire has really sold his land, and if he hasn't, fall at his feet, and lie there till he lets you have the field, even if you have to pay sixty roubles.'

' And if he has sold it ? '

' If he has sold it, may God punish him ! '

' That won't give us the field.'

' You are a fool ! ' she cried. ' We and the children and the cattle have lived by God's grace and not by the squire's.'

' That 's so,' said Slimak, suddenly getting up. ' Give me my breakfast. What are you crying

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After her passionate outburst Slimakowa had actually broken down.

' How am I not to cry,' she sobbed, ' when the merciful God has punished me with such an idiot of a husband ? He will do nothing himself and takes away my courage into the bargain.'

' Don't be a fool,' he said, with his face clouding. ' I'll go to the squire at once, even if I should have to give sixty roubles.'

' But if the field is sold ? '

' Hang him, we have lived by the grace of God and not by his.'

' Then where will you get fodder ? '

' Look after your pots and pans, and don't meddle with a man's affairs.'

' The Germans will drive you away.'

' The deuce they will ! ' He struck the table with his fist. ' If I were to fall down dead, if they chopped me into little pieces, I wouldn't let the dogs have my land. Give me my breakfast, or I'll ask you the reason why ! . . . And you, Jendrek, be off with Maciek, or I shall get the strap ! '

The sun shone into the ballroom of the manor- house through every chink and opening ; streaks of white light lay on the floor, which was dented by the dancers' heels, and on the walls ; the rays were reflected in the mirrors, rested on the gilt cornices and on the polished furniture. In comparison with them the light of the candles and lamps looked yellow and turbid. The ladies were pale and had blue circles round their eyes, the powder was falling from their dishevelled hair, their dresses were crumpled, and here and there in holes. The padding showed under the imitation

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gold of the braids and belts of notables ; rich velvets had turned into cheap velveteens, beaver fur to rabbit skins, and silver armour to tin. The musicians' hands dropped, the dancers' legs had grown stiff. Intoxication had cooled and given place to heaviness ; lips were breathing feverishly. Only three couples were now turning in the middle of the room, then two, then none. There was a lack of arm-chairs for the men ; the ladies hid their yawns behind their fans. At last the music ceased, and as no one said any- thing, a dead silence spread through the room. Candles began to splutter and went out, lamps smoked.

' Shall we go in to tea ? ' asked the squire, in a hoarse voice.

' To bed ... to bed,' whispered the guests.

' The bedrooms are ready,' he said, trying to sound cheerful, in spite of sleepiness and a cold.

The ladies immediately got up, threw their wraps over their shoulders and left the room, turning their faces away from the windows.

Soon the ballroom was empty, save for the old cellist, who had gone to sleep with his arms round his instrument. The bustle was transferred to distant rooms ; there was much stamping upstairs and noise of men's voices in the courtyard. Then all became silent.

The squire came clinking along the passages, looked dully round the ballroom, and said, yawn- ing : ' Put out the lights, Mateus, and open the windows. Where is my lady ? '

' My lady has gone to her room.'

My lady, in her orange-velvet gipsy costume and a diamond hoop in her hair, was lying in

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an arm-chair, her head thrown back. The squire dropped into another arm-chair, yawning broadly.

' Well, it was a great success.'

' Splendid,' yawned my lady.

' Our guests ought to be satisfied.' After a while he spoke again.

' Do you know that I have sold the estate ? '

' To whom ? '

' To Hirschgold ; he is giving me seventy-five roubles an acre/

' Thank God we shall get away at last.'

' Well, you might come and give me a kiss ! '

' I'm much too tired. Come here, if you want one.'

' I deserve that you should come here. I've done exceedingly well.'

' No, I won't. Hirschgold . . . Hirschgold . . . oh yes, some acquaintance of father's. The first mazurka was splendid, wasn't it ? '

The squire was snoring.

CHAPTER VII

THE squire and his wife left for Warsaw a week after the ball. Their place was taken by Hirsch- gold's agent, a freckle-faced Jew, who installed himself in a small room in the bailiff's house, spent his days in looking through and sending out accounts, and bolted the door and slept with two revolvers under his pillow at night.

The squire had taken part of the furniture with him, the rest of the suites and fixtures were sold to the neighbouring gentry ; the Jews bought up the library by the pound, the priest acquired the American" organ, the garden-seats passed into

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Gryb's ownership, and for three roubles the peasant Orzchewski became possessed of the large engraving of Leda and the Swan, to which the purchaser and his family said their prayers. The inlaid floors henceforward decorated the magisterial court, and the damask hangings were bought by the tailors and made into bodices for the village girls.

When Slimak went a few weeks later to have a look at the manor-house he could not believe his eyes at the sight of the destruction that had taken place. There were no panes in the windows and not a single latch left on the wide-open doors ; the walls had been stripped and the floors taken up. The drawing-room was a dungheap, Pani Joselawa, the innkeeper's wife, had put up hencoops there and in the adjoining rooms ; axes and saws were lying about everywhere. The farmhands, who according to agreement were kept on till mid- summer, strolled idly from corner to corner ; one of the teamdrivers had taken desperately to drink ; the housekeeper was ill with fever, and the pantry- boy, as well as one of the farm-boys, were in prison for stealing latches off the doors.

' Good God ! ' said the peasant.

He was seized with fear at the thought of the unknown power which had ruined the ancient manor-house in a moment. An invisible cloud seemed to be hanging over the valley and the village ; the first flash of lightning had struck and completely shattered the seat of its owners.

Some days later the neighbourhood began to swarm with strangers, woodcutters and sawyers, mostly Germans. They walked and drove in crowds along the road past Slimak's cottage ; sometimes they marched in detachments like E 3

106 THE OUTPOST

soldiers. They were quartered at the manor, where they turned out the servants and the remaining cattle : they occupied every corner. At night they lit great fires in the courtyard, and in the morning they all walked off to the woods. At first it was difficult to guess what they were doing. Soon, however, there was a distant echo as of someone drumming with his fingers on the table ; at last the sound of the axe and the thud of falling trees was heard quite plainly. Fresh inroads on the wavy contour of the forest appeared continually; first " crevices, then windows, then wide openings, and for the first time since the world was the world, the astonished sky looked into the valley from that side.

The wood fell : only the sky remained and the earth with a few juniper bushes and countless rows of tree-trunks, hastily stripped of their branches. The rapacious axe had not spared one of fche leafy tribe. Not one — not even the centenarian oak which had been touched by lightning more than once. Gazing upwards, this defier of storms had hardly noticed the worms turning round its feet, and the blows of their axes meant no more to it than the tapping of the woodpecker. It fell suddenly, convinced at the last that the world was insecure after all, and not worth living in.

There was another oak, half withered, on the branches of which the unfortunate Simon Golamb l had hanged himself ; the people passed it in fear.

' Flee ! ' it murmured, when the woodcutters approached. ' I bring you death ; only one man dared to touch my branches, and he died.' But 1 Polish spelling : Ootab,

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the woodcutters paid no heed, deeper and deeper they sent the sharp axe into its heart, and with a roar it swayed and fell.

The night-wind moaned over the corpses of the strong trees, and the birds and wild creatures, deprived of their native habitations, mourned.

Older still than the oaks were the huge boulders thickly sown over the fields. The peasants had never touched them ; they were too heavy to be removed ; moreover, there was a superstition that the rebellious devils had in the first days of the creation thrown these stones at the angels, and that it was unlucky to touch them. Overgrown with moss they each lay in an island of green grass ; the shepherds' lit their fires beneath them on chilly nights, the ploughmen lay down in their shade on a hot afternoon, the hawker would sometimes hide his treasures underneath them.

Now their last hour had struck too ; men began to busy themselves about them. At first the village "people thought that the ' Swabians ' were looking for treasure ; but Jendrek found out that they were boring holes in the venerable stones.

' What are the idiots doing that for ? ' asked Slimakowa. ' Blessed if I know what Js the good of that to them ! '

' I know, neighbour,' said old Sobieska, blinking her eyes ; ' they are boring because they have heard that there are toads inside those big stones.'

' And what if there are ? '

' You see, they want to know if it 's true.'

' But what 's that to them ? '

* I'll be hanged if I know ! ' retorted Sobieska in such a decided tone that Slimakowa considered the matter as settled.

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The Germans, however, were not looking for toads. Before long such a cannonading began that the echoes reached the farthest ends of the valley, telling every one that not even the rocks were able to withstand the Germans.

' Those Swabians are a hard race,' muttered Slimak, as he gazed on the giants that had been dashed to pieces. He thought of the colonists for whom the property had been bought, and who now wanted his land as well.

' They are not anywhere about,' he thought ; ' perhaps they won't come after all.'

But they came.

One morning, early in April, Slimak went out before sunrise as usual to say his prayers in the open. The east was flushed with pink, the stars were paling, only the morning star shone like a jewel, and was welcomed from below by the awakening birds.

The peasant's lips moved in prayer, while he fixed his eyes on the white mist which covered the ground like snow. Then it was that he heard a distant sound from beyond the hills, a rumble of carts and the voices of many people. He quickly walked up the lonely pine hill and perceived a long procession of carts covered with awnings, filled with human beings and their domestic and agri- cultural implements. Men in navy-blue coats and straw hats were walking beside them, cows were tied behind, and small herds of pigs were scram- bling in and out of the procession. A little cart, scarcely larger than a child's, brought up the rear ; it was drawn by a dog and a woman, and conveyed a man whose feet were dangling down in front.

' The Swabians are coming ! ' flashed through

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Slirnak's mind, but he put the thought away from him.

1 Maybe they are gipsies,' he argued. But no — they were not dressed like gipsies, and woodcutters don't take cattle about with them — then who were they ?

He shrank from the thought that the colonists were actually coming.

' Maybe it 's they, maybe not . . .' he whispered.

For a moment a hill concealed them from his view, and he hoped that the vision had dissolved into the light of day. But there they were again, and each step of their lean horses brought them nearer. The sun was gilding the hill which they were ascending, and the larks were singing brightly to welcome them.

Across the valley the church bell was ringing. Was it calling to prayers as usual, or did it warn the people of the invasion of a foreign power ?

Slimak looked towards the village. The cottage- doors were closed, no one was astir, and even if he had shouted aloud, ' Look, gospodarze. the Germans are here ! ' no one would have been alarmed.

The string of noisy people now began to file past Slirnak's cottage. The tired horses were walking slowly, the cows could scarcely lift their feet, the pigs squeaked and stumbled. But the people were happy, laughing and shouting from cart to cart. They" turned round by the bridge on to the open ground.

The small cart in the rear had now reached Slirnak's gate ; the big dog fell down panting, the man raised himself to a sitting position and the girl took the strap from her shoulder and wiped her perspiring forehead.

110 THE OUTPOST

Slimak was seized with pity for them ; he came down from the hill and approached the travellers.

* Where do you al] come from ? Who are you ? } he asked.

* We are colonists from beyond the Vistula/ the girl answered. ' Our people have bought land here, and we have come with them.'

' But have not you bought land also ? ' The woman shrugged her shoulders.

* Is it the custom with you for the women to drag the men about ? '

' What can we do ? we have no horses and my father cannot walk on his own feet.'

* Is your father lame ? ' 1 Yes.'

The peasant reflected for a moment.

* Then he is hanging on to the others, as it were ? '

* Oh no,' replied the girl with much spirit, ' father teaches the children and I take in sewing, and when there is no sewing to do I work in the fields.'

Slimak looked at her with surprise and said, after a pause : ' You can't be German, you talk our language very well.'

* We are from Germany.'

* Yes, we are Germans,' said the man in the cart, speaking for the first time.

Slimakowa and Jendrek now, came out of the cottage and joined the group at the gate.

' What a strong dog ! ' cried Jendrek.

' Look here,' said Slimak, 'this lady has dragged her lame father a long way in the cart ; would you do that, you scamp ? '

' Why should I ? Haven't they any horses, dad?'

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* We have had horses,' murmured the man in the cart, ' but we haven't any now.'

He was pale and thin, with red hair and beard.

' Wouldn't you like to rest and have something to eat after your long journey ? ' inquired Slimak.

' I don't want anything to eat, but my father would like some milk.'

* Kun and get some milk, Jendrek,' cried Slimak. ' Meaning no offence,' said Slimakowa, ' but you

Germans can't have a country of your own, or else you wouldn't come here.'

' This is our home,' the girl replied. ' I was born in this country, the other side of the Vistula.'

Her father made an impatient movement and said in a broken voice : ' We Germans have a country of our own, larger than yours, but it 's not pleasant to live in : too many people, too little land ; it 's difficult to make a living, and we have to pay heavy taxes and do hard military service, and there are penalties for everything.'

He coughed and continued after a pause : 1 Everybody wants to be comfortable and live as he pleases, and not as others tell him. It 's not pleasant to live in our country, so we've come here.'

Jendrek brought the milk and offered it to the girl, who gave it to her father.

* God repay you ! ' sighed the invalid ; ' the people in this country are kind.5

' I wish you would not do us harm,' said Slima- kowa in a half-whisper.

' Why should we do you harm ? ' said the man. ' Do we take your land ? do we steal ? do we murder you ? " We are quiet people, we get in nobody's" way so long as nobody gets . . .'

112 THE OUTPOST

' You have bought the land here,' Slimak interrupted.

' But why did your squire sell it to us ? If thirty peasants had been settled here instead of one man, who did nothing but squander his money, our people would not have come. Why did not you yourselves form a community and buy the village ? Your money would have been as good as ours. You have been settled here for ages, but the colonists had to come in before you troubled about the land, and then no sooner have they bought it than they become a stumbling-block to you ! Why wasn't the squire a stumbling-block to you ? '

Breathless, he paused and looked at his wasted arms, then continued : ' To whom is ifc that the colonists resell their land ? To you peasants ! On the other side of the Vistula * the peasants bought up every scrap of our land.'

* One of your lot is always after me to sell him my land,' said Slimak.

* To think of such a thing ! ' interposed his wife. 1 Who is he ? '

' How should I know ? there are two of them, and they came twice, an old man and one with a beard. They want my hill to put up a windmill, they say.'

' That 's Hamer,' said the girl under her breath to her father.

* Oh, Hamer,' repeated the invalid, ' he has

1 i. e. in Prussian Poland. One of the Polish people's grievances is that the large properties are not sold direct to them but to the colonists, and the peasants have to buy the land from them. Statistics show that in spite of the great activity of the German Colonization Commission more and more land is constantly acquired by the Polish peasants, who hold on to the land tenaciously.

THE OUTPOST Il3

caused us difficulties enough. Our people wanted to go to the other side of the Bug, where land only costs thirty roubles an acre, but he persuaded them to come here, because they are building a railway across the valley. So our people have been buying land here at seventy roubles an acre and have been running into debt with the Jew, and we shall see what comes of it.'

The girl meanwhile had been eating coarse bread, sharing it with the dog. She now looked across to where the colonists were spreading themselves over the fields.

1 We must go, father,' she said.

' Yes, we must go ; what do I owe you for the milk, gospodarz ? '

The peasant shrugged his shoulders.

' If we were obliged to take money for a little thing like that, I shouldn't have asked you.'

' Well, God repay you ! '

' God speed you,' said Slimak and his wife.

' Strange folk, those Germans,' he said, when they had slowly moved off. ( He is a clever man, yet he goes about in that little cart like an old beggar.'

' And the girl ! ' said Slimakowa, ' whoever heard of dragging an old man about, as if you were a horse.'

* They're not bad,' said Slimak, returning to his cottage.

The conversation with the Germans had reas- sured him that they were not as terrible as he had fancied.

When Maciek went out after breakfast to plough the potato-fields, Slimak slipped off.

' You've got to put up the fence ! ' his wife called out after him.

114 THE OUTPOST

* That won't run away,' he answered, and banged the door> fearful lest his wife should detain him.

He crouched as he ran through the yard, wishing to attract her attention as little as possible, and went stealthily up the hill to where Maciek was perspiring over his ploughing.

* How about those Swabians ? ' asked the labourer.

Slimak sat down on the slope so that he could not be seen from the cottage, and pulled out his pipe. '

' You might sit over there,' Maciek said, pointing with his whip to a raised place ; ' then I could smell the smoke.'

' What 's the good of the smoke to you ? I'll give you my pipe to finish, and meanwhile it does not grieve the old woman to see me sitting here wasting my time.' He lit his pipe very deliberately, rested his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands and looked into the valley, watching the crowd of Germans.

With their covered carts they had enclosed a square into which they had driven their cattle and horses ; inside and outside of this the people were bustling about. Some put a portable manger on a stand and fed the cows, others ran to the river with buckets. The women brought out their saucepans and little sacks of vegetables and a crowd of children ran down the ravine for fuel.

* What crowds of children they have ! ' said Sli- mak ; ' we have not as many in the whole village.'

' Thick as lice,' said Maciek. Slimak could not wonder enough. Yesterday the field had been empty and quiet, to-day it was

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like a fair. People by the river, people in the ravines, people on the fields, who chop the bushes, carry wood, make fires, feed and water the animals ! One man had already opened a retail-shop on a cart and was obviously doing good business. The women were pressing round him, buying salt, sugar, vinegar. Some young mothers had made cradles of shawls, suspended on short pitchforks, and while they were cooking with one hand they rocked the cradle with the other. There was^ a veterinary surgeon, too, who examined the foot of a lame horse, and a barber was shaving an old Swabian on the step of his cart.

* Do you notice how quickly they work ? It 's farther for them to fetch the firewood than for us, yet we take half the day over it and they do it before you can say two prayers.'

' Oh ! oh ! ' said Maciek, who seemed to feel this remark as an aspersion.

' But, then, they work together,' continued Slimak ; ' when our people go out in a crowd every one attends to his own business, and rests when he likes or gets into the way of the others. But these dogs work together as if they were used to each other ; if one of them were to lie down on the ground the others would cram work into his hand and stand over him till he had finished it. Watch them yourself.'

He gave his pipe to Maciek and returned to the cottage.

* They are quick folk, . those Swabians,' he muttered, ' and clever ! ' Within half an hour he had discovered the two secrets of modern work : organization and speed.

About noon two colonists came to the gospo-

116 THE OUTPOST

darstwo and asked Slimak to sell them butter and potatoes and hay. He let them have the former without bargaining, but he refused the hay.

* Let us at least have a cartload of straw/ they asked with their foreign accent.

' I won't. I haven't got any.' The men got angry.

* That scoundrel Hamer is giving us no end of trouble,' one cried, dashing his cap on the ground;

J he told us we should get fodder and everything at the farms. We can't get any at the manor either ; the Jews from the inn are there and won't stir from the place.'

Just as they were leaving, a brichka drove up containing the two Hamers, whose faces were now quite familiar to Slimak. The colonists rushed to the vehicle with shouts and explanations, gesticu- lating wildly, pointing hither and thither, and talking in turns, for even in their excitement they seemed to preserve system and order.

The Hamers remained perfectly calm, listening patiently and attentively, until 'the others were tired of shouting. When they had finished, the younger man answered them at some length, and at last they shook hands and the colonists took up their sacks of potatoes and departed cheerfully.

' How are you, gospodarz ? ' called the elder man to Slimak. ' Shall we come to terms yet ? '

1 What 's the use of .talking, father ? ' said the other ; * he will come to us of his own accord ! '

* Never ! ' cried Slimak, and added under his breath : ' They are dead set on me — the vermin ! Queer folk ! ' he observed to his wife, looking after the departing brichka, i when our people . are quarrelling, they don't stop to listen, but these

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seem to understand each other all the same and to smooth things over.'

' What are you always cracking up the Swabians for, you old silly ? ' returned his wife. ' You don't seem to remember that they want to take your land away from you. ... I can't make you out ! '

1 What can they do to me ? I won't let them have it, and they can't rob me.'

' Who knows ? They are many, and you are only one.'

' That 's God's will ! I can see they have more sense than I have, but when it comes to holding on, there I can match them ! Look at all the wood- peckers on that little tree ; that tree is like us peasants. The squire sits and hammers, the parish sits and hammers, the Jews and the Germans sit and hammer, yet in the end they all fly away and the tree is still the tree.'

The evening brought a visit from old Sobieska, who stumbled in with her demand of a ' thimbleful of whisky '.

' I nearly gave up the ghost,' she cried, ' I've run so fast to tell