. It was fortunate that Mikolai was coming home in the autumn,
then he would have more company. Mr. Tiralla had never liked being
alone, and now he liked it less than ever. There was an indefinite
something that frightened him; he could not have said what it was, but
it seemed to be lying in wait for him at every corner.

He called out to the two in a joyful voice. He was holding up his hand
to his eyes in order to protect them from the sun that was setting
blood-red behind the pines, and the two figures in their light-coloured
dresses looked like angels of light. "_Psia krew_, why so late? Come,
my dears, come along."

Rosa let her mother's arm go. Swinging her basket in the air she ran up
to her father, "Mushrooms, mushrooms." She was glowing with happiness.

He stroked her flying hair away from her face and patted her cheeks.
"My darling, my consolation."

Why did her father look so serious? He was low-spirited. Rosa gazed at
him with womanly, anxious eyes that love had sharpened. Her daddy was
growing old. What a lot of lines he had in his face, lots of crooked
lines like those the crows made in the snow with their feet. And still
he was so stout, and had such a good appetite. "Do you love me?" she
asked affectionately, raising her face for him to kiss. "I love you."

[Pg 146]

He did not kiss her; he was looking at his wife, who was coming on more
slowly.

It seemed to Mrs. Tiralla as though her foot faltered, as though a
leaden weight were almost paralyzing her. There he stood waiting
impatiently. Well, he should have them. She ran past him with a
muttered "God be with me!"

Nobody was in the kitchen. What had become of that slow hussy Marianna?
But never mind, she could not have done with her to-day. She put wood
and peat on the fire with her own hands, so that the embers were soon
ablaze, placed a pan on the fire, and fetched butter and cream from the
larder. She was very busy.

At that moment Rosa came running in. "Mother, daddy asks if the
mushrooms are really good?"

"Why, of course," said Mrs. Tiralla, and pushed her daughter
impatiently out of the kitchen. She could not have her looking on. Then
she cut the mushrooms to pieces and threw them into the pan and poured
boiling water on them; they were to boil for some time, bad and good
all together, so that they might lose their shape and colour and all
resemble each other so much that they could not be distinguished.
Nobody should say of her that