"Where is my diary?"
They knew he used to keep one and did not like to tell him it was under Ruvno's ruins. So they said nothing.
"Please give it me. I want it," he urged feebly.
"What does he want?" asked Ostap.
Ian told him.
"I remember," said the Cossack, "he did take two books out of his skirt pocket, there under the moon when you were digging up the treasure. He put them in his nose-bag." He slung it off his back, drew out the two books and handed them to the sick man, who eagerly clutched at them.
"Ian," he said, "come here." When his patron obeyed he gave him the two little books, bound in black oilcloth, such as children write their copies in.
"Keep them," he said with an effort. "Have them published. People must know what Poland endures."
"I will," said Ian, putting them in his knapsack.
"Have you them safe?" he asked.