Part 7 (1/2)
”Good mother,” said he, in a low voice, a little sadly, ”help me, teach me, advise me; you will find that I shall know how to show my grat.i.tude. When harvest-time comes, or when it is time to work your garden, you will find that all that sort of work will cost you nothing.”
”Make yourself easy,” answered the widow; ”you know that I am not stingy with my good advice. I will help you and this orphan; but tell me this one thing, do you really believe that in your old age, and knowing nothing about nursing or bringing up children, you will be able to undertake to be its mother?”
At these words Iermola bowed his head and made no reply. Judging the feelings of others by those of his own heart, he feared that under this pretext some one would come and take his baby from him.
Then he rose, cautiously approached the bench, raised the coverings, took the baby gently in his arms, and started toward the threshold. At that moment the door opened, and Chwedko appeared, accompanied by the goat. The white head and horns of the animal appeared in the dark s.p.a.ce of the half-open door, touched by the light of the flickering candle, and began to move. Horpyna, at sight of it, was startled, and screamed.
”Well, well!” cried the widow, ”here is a nurse.”
”Let us go back to the house,” whispered Iermola. ”Good-evening, mother; come to see me to-morrow, if you will be so good.”
”I will, if only for the sake of curiosity,” answered the old woman.
Then the good man, constantly fearing lest they should take his baby from him, hastened to leave the house. His heart felt lighter when he found himself in the street. Chwedko followed behind him, leading the goat, and both went on in silence toward the old ruined inn.
Iermola, however, was communing with himself all along the way.
”Why should I not be able to do it?” said he to himself. ”I understand,--I understand; the old woman wanted to keep him herself, the beautiful little angel. But I will not give him to her. No, indeed; she shall not have the care of him. Once more I repeat, 'It is not the saints who make the pots boil.' I will bring up the child! I shall have a son!” he cried, with joyous pride. ”My good Chwedko, take care of the goat; I will give you a florin, for you helped me very kindly. May G.o.d have in store for you a more abundant reward!”
The two, walking cautiously along, at last reached the door of the old house. Iermola laid the baby, who was still fast asleep, upon his own bed, and then undertook to light a fire; as for Chwedko, he even put off going to see after his gray mare, the only possession he had in the world. Seeing this, the old man gave a florin to his friend, embraced him, and sent him off, remaining alone in the room with the goat and the baby.
He did not think of going to sleep; he felt no need of sleep, he had so much to do, so many preparations to make. At first he seated himself near the stove, not knowing what to do first, his eyes fixed on the baby as one gazes on a rainbow after a storm. The old goat wandered restlessly about the room, b.u.t.ting against the door with her horns, and mousing around in the corners, picking up whatever she could find to eat.
The noise at last woke the baby; and Iermola sprang forward to hush it, when it occurred to him that the best plan would be to tie the Jewess (that was the name Chwedko had given to Iermola's new possession).
Accordingly he threw her a little straw, and she became quiet, resigning herself to her fate. The baby slept on sweetly and soundly.
Iermola had now no bed for himself, but he did not care for it; he sat down upon the piece of a tree-trunk, cut flat off at both ends, which served him as a stool whenever he wished to sit near the stove.
His bed was well filled; and he had so many things to think about and so many things to do before to-morrow morning!
He had already been warned that he would have to announce the discovery of the baby to the steward Hudny, who represented the estate, and tell him that he, Iermola, would undertake the charge of the poor little one. In addition to this disagreeable duty, which he would have given anything to escape, he had to make a cradle for the baby and to attend to a number of other small matters. Then the creature might waken and cry; he must soothe it lest it should shed tears. However, he felt that he could do all this, for strength did not fail him now,--that strength which comes from the heart.
The whole of this bright, short spring night was pa.s.sed by him full of anxiety and care; the first gray light of morning which shone through the window found him still disturbed and embarra.s.sed, but feeling no need of sleep or rest. Finally he thought he would like to go and cut some feet for the cradle from the old logs which were in his other room; but he feared to leave the child, and besides, the goat might disturb him. The creaking of the door even might waken the little creature; and what if, when he was busy at work, he should not hear him cry!
But the sense of these difficulties and apparent impossibilities overwhelmed him only momentarily; at other times he told himself that it would be easy to surmount it all, and he strengthened himself by hope, forgetful of hunger, fatigue, and want of sleep. The sun was just about to rise when he undertook the task of milking the goat, so that he might have some milk ready when his dear little one wakened; but the old Jewess was not in a kindly and accommodating humour. She was stubborn as a goat; that describes her temper. Moreover, she was accustomed to obey only her old master and mistress, and absolutely refused to submit to the will of her new owner. At first Iermola treated her with great gentleness. He patted her, spoke to her, and endeavoured to convince her of the necessity there was for her to be docile; but all was of no avail, and he was finally compelled to resort to violent measures. Then the goat boldly raised the standard of revolt; she broke her rope and rushed toward the door of the chamber, b.u.t.ting it with her horns. The baby, at this noise, woke; the old man tore his hair.
Fortunately, at this moment the cossack's widow arrived, the curiosity which had consumed her since she wakened having led her to Iermola's hut. Seeing him in such a state of bewilderment, she burst into a loud laugh, but she also set to work and succeeded in milking the goat with the most surprising ease. It might have been because the Jewess was accustomed to allow herself to be milked by women, or perhaps seeing herself alone against two, she doubted the expediency of opposition; but she voluntarily submitted to the widow. As for Iermola, he was already rocking the baby.
”Well,” asked the old woman, ”how did you pa.s.s the night?”
”I did not go to bed,” answered Iermola; ”but the baby slept sweetly.
Only that miserable goat--”
”Oh, you will not have much trouble with her; she will become accustomed to you in a day or two if you feed her well. And so the little one slept?”
”Like a little angel! I am sure that there is not a baby in the world who sleeps better than he. You should see how intelligent he is! I believe he almost knows me, neighbour.”
The orphan's adopted father was greatly astonished when the widow burst into a hearty laugh on hearing him say this. After that he kept silent, quite abashed.
”I really do not know why G.o.d did not give you a wife and children,”
said she, a moment later; ”or rather, why He did not make you a woman.”