"Have you never tried the remedy, rather disagreeable, but sometimes very good, of smoking a pipe of moss from the oak-trees instead of tobacco?"
"No, really."
"The only thing is to be careful about choosing the moss," said Iermola. "Are there any oak-trees near you?"
"Yes, indeed; the courtyard is full of them."
Iermola went out immediately to look for some; he had no trouble in finding a good handful, dried it, picked out the straws and fragments of bark, then filled a pipe with it, and presented it to the suffering Sydor. The pipe was scarcely lighted before a strong disagreeable odour filled the room and made Nascia sneeze violently; but either from this effect of the remedy or because the pain was coming to an end, Sydor soon ceased to suffer and moan, and the couple could not thank the old man sufficiently. Then the patient's face began to swell, but this was the natural consequence of the disease.
"Let it swell," said Sydor, "provided I have no more pain. A while ago I was ready to burst my head open against the wall."
Thus, thanks to a handful of moss, Iermola had been able to make a friend. Nascia gave him the window which had been taken out, some kindling-wood to light the fire in his stove, and bits of pine to burn instead of a torch. Then she made him eat his supper; and remembering that he would need something the next day, she filled a pot for him, after which Iermola went away, happy and well pleased, to occupy his new dwelling.
There is nothing so sad as an empty, solitary house after the dead owner has passed away; one seems to feel the presence of the corpse everywhere. Procope's cottage had been deserted for several months. Dampness and mildew had begun to invade it; small mushrooms had sprung up in the corners; a few grains of grass-seed and wheat, thrown by the wind into the cracks and crevices, sent up their frail stalks, yellow and pale for want of air and light; the moisture stood in drops upon the walls; the ground-floor was covered with gray mosses; and numberless insects had made their nests among the rubbish.
But it all seemed endurable and comfortable to Iermola; and he was ready to remedy everything, to find compensations and resources for himself, happy and comforted as he was by the fact of being near his child and the hope of seeing him again.
He put in the window, lighted the fire, swept and cleared the floor, opened the door, repaired and set up as well as he could two old benches, then having spread his bags on the floor, he laid down upon them, impatient to rest after the long tramp he had taken over an uneven, woody, and sandy road.