Iermola Part 6

"How much did it cost you?" asked Iermola.

"Oh, it has cost me-- I cannot tell you how much. First, when it was just born, I paid two roubles for it. For you see this is no ordinary goat; it is of a fine breed,--a very rare breed. I would not take six roubles for it; she eats almost nothing, and she is always fat, and every year she bears two kids."

After this speech there was a moment of silence. Iermola turned pale and became agitated, not knowing what to say. He gazed at the goat, which continued to walk around, stamping on the ground with her hoof, and poking her head into every corner where she perceived the faintest odour of food. She occupied herself in picking up scattered leaves, bits of bark, and cabbage stalks; and in justice to her, it must be said that she minded her own business and disturbed no one.

"She would suit you exactly," said Chwedko, resuming his role of courtier. "She never would run away, because she is already accustomed to the village. She knows where to go to graze; she is old, gentle, and used to being milked."

"And she is not an ordinary goat," repeated the Jew, in a sententious tone; "she is of a rare breed,--a good breed."

"But where should I find so much money?" sighed Iermola.

"Come, see here," answered Szmula, coming nearer and speaking earnestly, "you are an honest man; I will have every consideration for you. In the town people might cheat you; I will give you a good bargain, and let you have the goat for three roubles. Now that is the best I can do; make up your mind."

Chwedko, who had not expected such reasonable terms, hastened to conclude the bargain, quite satisfied to find Szmula in such an accommodating mood.

"Come, hold out your hand, neighbour, and thank my lord merchant; you have made an excellent bargain. Pay for the animal and take her; I hope you will be quite satisfied with her."

"Well, what shall we do?" sighed the old serving-man. "I will take it at that price, since my lord merchant will not take less. Please give me a bit of cord so I can lead the goat home."

Accordingly, the purchase was quickly made and satisfactorily beyond all expectations. Iermola drew from a knot in the corner of his handkerchief three roubles, which he gave to Szmula. The Jew examined them, threw them on the ground, as was his custom, and then, dropped them into his pocket.

"You will return the string to-morrow?" said he, as he slowly retired to his chamber.

"How about the treat?" said Chwedko, timidly.

"That is Iermola's right," answered Szmula, "but since he did none of the bargaining, you shall not pay for your little gla.s.s of brandy; I will treat myself."

Then Marysia threw to the two friends a piece of cord with a buckle at the end which was used to carry the f.a.gots of kindling-wood. And Chwedko, having shut the door, began to chase the goat, who, suspecting some foul play, fled from the least approach of her two pursuers. The Jew had already gone away to his own apartment.

"Well, upon my word, you have shown your sense," cried the servant when she saw that her worthy master had disappeared. "What a shame to give twenty florins for a miserable old beast! you might have bought three young ones at the fair for that price."

The two old men kept silence; and having tied the string to the animal's horns, they led their conquest away.

Iermola was trembling with pleasure; the tears filled his eyes; and he embraced his neighbour.

"You have done me a great service; may G.o.d reward you!" he murmured.

"For the present, I shall not think of showing myself at Szmula's house," sighed Chwedko, who recognized the full extent of the danger to which he had exposed himself. "As soon as he hears about the baby, the rascal will suspect some trick, and never will forgive me. He would have fleeced you famously had he known that the goat was such a necessity."

Talking thus in low tones, they reached the widow's hut, forcing the goat to obedience by various means, more or less gentle, for she had not the slightest desire to go away from the inn.

Meantime the storm began to mutter behind them, for Sara, greatly enraged, had just rejoined her husband, and was relating to him the story of the baby left at old Iermola's house, which news she had just learned from Marysia, the bar-maid.

Szmula, who was not wanting in sagacity, understood at once why his goat had suddenly become so necessary; he pulled his beard and bit his finger-nails.

"Just wait a while, you rascal, you scoundrel of a Chwedko," muttered he, shaking his head. "If I live only a little while longer, I will pay you for it."

VI.

WHEN ONE LOVES.

In the life of a good and loving man,--one who, like Iermola, had led an isolated existence and had preserved in full force all the strength of his affections,--an event such as that which had just happened produces a sudden and entire change. The old man became young again. He felt the ties which bound him to the world renewed and strengthened; he had henceforth an aim in life, a hope, a bond, an affection, a new desire for work, the delights and antic.i.p.ations of an unknown feeling.

The poor orphan, cast off by his parents, became the crowning treasure of his old age.

A sort of excitement, such as he had not felt for years, took hold of his entire being, and made him at once stronger and more tender. He was disturbed; he wondered; he feared; he hoped; and he was anxious concerning the morrow. Tears sprang to his eyes. He felt that he had changed; he had become another man. He had forgotten the past, and he was dreaming of the future. He felt himself blest, very happy, never suspecting the weary moments, the cares and toil he was preparing for the remainder of his existence. Like the bird in whose nest the cuckoo lays her eggs, he was astonished, frightened, content. For the first time he found, to his surprise, that he dreaded death; that he felt the need and the desire to live. Chwedko no longer recognized him, he was so utterly changed; the old man, usually so silent and indifferent, now spoke with warmth and vivacity, so entirely did he resume the attraction, the gestures, and thoughts of a young man.

He found it impossible to remain patiently any longer beside Chwedko, for their stubborn companion never ceased for a moment to make every effort in its power to get away from them and return to the alehouse.

He therefore confided the goat to the care of Chwedko, and hastened on in advance.

He rushed into his old friend's hut and ran at once to the wooden bench where the new-born baby was lying asleep, quieted and satisfied by the good milk it had drunk. Beside it stood Horpyna, the little shepherd, and the servant, who were watching in silence this unexpected guest.

Iermola made his way through the little group, and seated himself on the floor so as to see the baby better.

"I think he is asleep," he whispered in the old widow's ear.

"Ah! to be sure, the poor innocent one," replied the old woman, nodding her head.

"And did he drink the milk?"

"Oh, certainly he did, and stopped crying immediately. But about the goat?"

"We have bought it; Chwedko is leading it hither."

Good old Iermola gazed with rapture upon his precious baby. "How beautiful he is!" he cried after a moment. "It must be the child of some n.o.bleman."

"He is a fine hearty boy," interrupted the widow; "but all children look alike when they are small. It is only later on, my good old man, that it is possible to distinguish those who have sprouted up under the hedge like a bunch of nettles from those who have grown up in the suns.h.i.+ne in the open fields. But at least this one is as lively as a fish; so much the better for you,--you will have less trouble."

Iermola laughed, but at the same moment his eyes filled with tears.

"Mother," he replied, "never in all my life have I seen so beautiful a baby."

"You have lost your senses, Iermola," cried the cossack's widow, bursting into a loud laugh and shrugging her shoulders. "Are you really thinking of bringing up the child yourself all alone?"

"And why not?" replied the astonished old man. "Do you suppose I would turn him over to strangers?"

"But you will not be able to do it. It seems an easy thing to you; but what will you do all alone, no woman near you at your age? Remember it must be fed, bathed, put to bed, amused, and looked after; this will be too great a task for you, all by yourself."

"Let me alone," answered Iermola, waving his hand. "It is not the saints who boil the pots;[5] I will prove it to you. You shall tell me what to do; and as true as there is a G.o.d in heaven, I never will be separated from this baby."

"Has the old man gone crazy?" cried the widow, shrugging her shoulders.

"He thinks it is as easy to bring up a child as it is to raise a little dog; and how much worry and fatigue he will have during two long years!"

"The longer the better. Don't say anything to me, mother, don't say anything; I will not listen to you, I will bring him up; I shall do it well, you will see."

Every one laughed at old Iermola's enthusiasm. He was unable to jest on the subject, and for a moment he even began to be doubtful of himself, to hesitate.