Part 3 (2/2)
What shall I do?”
The two women, shaking their heads in their extreme astonishment, had listened to Iermola in profound silence.
”Some one must have brought it there,” said the widow, at last; ”but who could it have been?”
”And who could have been willing to desert such a pretty baby?”
answered the old man, indignantly. ”How could such a thing be possible?”
”Oh, oh! There are many people capable of such a thing,” replied the widow, shaking her head sententiously. ”This is not the only instance which might be related of human depravity. Did you never hear of the unnatural mother who had the atrocity to give her sweet little baby to be devoured by swine?”
Old Iermola, not being able to comprehend what he heard, kept silence, opening wide his eyes and shaking his head. Meanwhile the two women had been kneeling on the floor that they might see the baby better.
”How fine and white his long-clothes are!”
”And how delicate it is!”
”It must be the child of some lord, for no one in the village would have dared to do such a thing.”
”And was it really brought and placed near your hut?”
”Yes, yes! but advise me; tell me what I ought to do with it.”
”Do what you like best,” answered the widow. ”You can take it to the steward, who will have it sent to the chief of police; and then it will be taken to the hospital.”
”Take it--and send it--to the hospital!” cried the old man, in a voice choking with tears. ”Ah, do you call that good advice? Would any one there pity it; would any one take care of it? How could I be sure they would not leave it to die?”
”Well, but what are you going to do with it,” replied the old woman, shrugging her shoulders.
”Ah, I do not know; advise me, neighbour.”
”Well, what do you think of doing?”
”How can I tell what to think?” answered the old man. ”My head is going round like a crank. I would not for anything in the world abandon a child whom G.o.d had intrusted to me; and when I think of rearing it myself, I fear I am not capable of doing it. But I feel almost sure I could; why should I not?”
”But you would have to put it out to be nursed; you could give it to Jurck's wife.”
”No, no! not for anything in the world!” cried the old man. ”Jurck's wife is too wicked; she treats her own poor child badly; and besides, she would ask G.o.d knows how much for taking care of it, and I always have a hard time making both ends meet. Could you give it a little milk? See how it is crying; perhaps it would drink it. I will buy some milk from you every day.”
At this the cossack's widow burst into a loud laugh.
”Well, well! So you are the one who is to rock its cradle, amuse it, and make its broth? But if you do, you must remember that you will not be able to do anything else. A little baby is a constant occupation and care. I remember very well what I suffered with my little Vymoszek, who only lived one year, and with my Horpyna too. I had not a moment day or night without anxiety.”
”But I do not need much sleep, and I have not much to do,” replied the bewildered old man, who felt himself drawn more and more to the poor little foundling. ”Three or four hours' sleep is quite sufficient for me; and a little baby sleeps almost all the time, provided his stomach is not empty. I should find plenty of time to rest myself, take care of my garden, and roast my potatoes.”
”But what would you give it to eat?”
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