to pasture, and caught the hares at a late breakfast. These
usually returned to the groves at dawn: to-day, covered by the thick fog,
some were nibbling duckweed; others, gathered in pairs, were digging holes
in the field, and thought to enjoy themselves in the open air; but the
cattle drove them back to the forest.

Even in the forest there was quiet. The birds on awakening did not sing,
but shook the dew from their feathers, hugged the trees, tucked their
heads under their wings, closed their eyes again, and awaited the sun.
Somewhere on the borders of a swamp a stork clacked with its bill; on the
haycocks sat drenched ravens, which, with open beaks, poured forth
ceaseless chatter--hateful to the farmers as an omen of damp weather. The
farmers had long since gone out to work.

The women, reaping, had already begun their usual song, gloomy,
melancholy, and monotonous as a rainy day, all the sadder since its sound
soaked into the mist without an echo; the sickles clinked in the grain,
and the meadow resounded. A line of mowers cutting the rowen whistled
ceaselessly a jingling tune; at the end of each swath they stopped,
sharpened their scythes, and rhythmically hammered them. The people could
not be seen in the mist; only the sickles, the scythes, and the songs
hummed together like the notes of invisible music.

In the centre, the Steward, seated on a pile of grain, turned his head
gloomily, and did not look at the work; he was gazing on the highway, at
the cross-roads, where something unusual was going on.

On the highway and in the byways since early dawn there had been unusual
animation; from one side a peasant's waggon creaked, flying like a
post-chaise; from another a gentleman's gig ratded at full gallop, and met
a second and a third; from the left-hand road a messenger rushed like a
courier, from the right raced a dozen horses; all were hurrying, though
they were headed in different directions. What could this mean? The
Steward arose from the pile. He wished to look into the matter, to make
inquiries; he stood long on the road, and shouted vainly, but could stop
no one, nor even recognise any one in the fog. The riders flashed by like
spirits; there could only be heard from time to time the dull sound of
hoofs, and, what was stranger yet, the clank of sabres; this greatly
rejoiced the Steward and yet it terrified him: for, though at that time
there was peace in Lithuania, dull rumours of war had long been curre