III.
Their joys do now such numbers reach
God fathers and mothers
’Mid lots of others
Behold they have gathered
Three pairs of each.
At even they christen him,
And Mark is the name of him.
So Mark grows,
And so it goes.
For the dear old folk it is no joke,
For they don’t know where to go,
Where to set him, when to pet him.
But the year goes and still Mark grows.
Yet they care for him, you’d scarce tell how,
Just as he were a good milk-cow.
And now a woman young and bright,
With eyebrows dark and skin so white,
Comes into this blessed place,
For servant’s task she asks with grace.
“What, what—
say we’ll take her ’Stasia.”
“We’ll take her, Trophimus.
We are old and little wearies us; [[49]]
He’s almost grown within a year,
But yet he’ll need more care, I fear.”
“Truly he’ll need care,
And now, praise God, I’ve done my share.
My knees are failing, so now
You poor thing, tell us your wage,
It is by the year or how?”
“What ever you like to give.”
“No, no, it’s needful to know,
It’s needful, my daughter,
to count one’s wage.
This you must learn, count what you earn.
This is the proverb—
Who counts not his money
Hasn’t got any.
But, child, how will this do?
You don’t know us,
We don’t know you.
You’ll stay with us a few days,
Get acquainted with our ways;
We’ll see you day by day,
Bye and bye we’ll talk of pay.
Is it so, daughter?”
“Very good, uncle.”
“We invite you into the house.”
And so they to agreement came.
The young woman seemed always the same, [[50]]
Cheerful and happy as she’d married a lord
Who’d buy up villages just at her word.
She in the house and out doth work
From morning light to evening’s mirk.
And yet the child is her special care;
Whatever befalls, she’s the mother there.
Nor Monday nor Sunday this mother misses
To give its bath and its white dresses.
She plays and sings, makes wagons and things,
And on a holiday, plays with it all the day.
Wondering, the old folks gaze,
But to God they give the praise.
So the servant never rests,
But the night her spirit tests.
In her chamber then, I ween,
Many a tear she sheds unseen.
Yet none knows nor sees it all
But the little Mark so small.
Nor knows he why in hours of night
His tossings break her slumbers light.
So from her couch she quickly leaps,
The coverings o’er his limbs she keeps.
With sign of cross the child she blesses,
Her gentle care her love confesses.
[[51]]
Each morning Mark spreads out his hands
To the Servant as she stands;
Accepts, unknowing, a mother’s care.
Only to grow is his affair.
[[52]]