“Peace be with you,” he said to Pan Andrew when the crowd had scattered, “and with you, my daughter,” putting his hand upon the woman’s head. “What may be the cause of such mischance? You are strangers here?”
“Strangers and worse. Homeless,” said Pan Andrew.
“You are come from a long distance?”
“The Ukraine.”
The kind shoulders rocked in agitation. “My—my—but surely you have friends in town?”
“I have none. I had a friend here and sought him, but he is dead. My house is burned by Tartars, my wealth is gone. I am pursued by men who seek my life and the one possession that I have left.” Here he touched the pumpkin with his foot.
“But why this accusation of magic?”
Pan Andrew smiled. “A trick it was to raise feelings against me in the public square and then to despoil me of this possession. I think that he who raised the storm against me here has followed me many miles across the border, and I believe that he is the agent of some more powerful person. There is much to this, my good—my good—— You are a priest?”
“Men call me so. I am but a servant of the Father of us all.”