"Those glazed things? You wish to make some like them? And what good would that do? Our wares, such as they are, sell well, thank God! In order to make glazed dishes, you must have another kind of clay, and work it in another way, and perhaps use other implements; that would give us a great deal of trouble. Why bother our heads with it all?"
"But, father, you did not see how much the merchants charged for their glazed porringers. And how beautiful they were, all painted with different-coloured flowers, and so solid and neat-looking! The people said that nothing one might put into them would stain them, as is the case with other kinds, and also that it is much less trouble to keep them clean. Now, father, why should not we make them also?"
"Good Lord! what sort of an idea have you taken into your head?" cried Iermola, with a sigh, for he was content with his present life, and desired no other. "You do not know, my child, how difficult it is. As for me, it is too late for me to learn new things; and for you, it is too soon. If you desire it very much, you can learn when you are a man."
To this Radionek made no reply. He kept to himself the earnest desire which he had conceived; and though in the bottom of his heart he never forgot the beautiful glazed pottery, he spoke no more about it, for fear of worrying the old man.
But the good father desired above all things to gratify his child's wishes, although he did not sympathize with his youthful hopes, which might lead to such bitter disappointment if the enterprise was unsuccessful. Good Iermola therefore resolved to spare neither time nor pains until he could somehow make that unfortunate glazed pottery; and as he never decided upon any important matter without consulting his neighbour the widow, he went out one evening to ask her advice.
In this other house also, the ten years which had passed had brought many noticeable changes, which had come about gradually and almost insensibly; the widow had lost some of her strength, but she continued to manage actively her house and farm. Horpyna, now the wife of a steward, lived a few miles away; having begun life making her own dresses and wearing a silk handkerchief on her head, she now wore bonnets and hats, and was not quite happy when her mother came to see her, because she wished to pass as the daughter of a gentleman. She rarely came to Popielnia; and when she did come, it was always because she had some request to make of her mother. The old widow of Harasym was always thankful for these short and rare visits, and was always ready to give anything Horpyna asked, provided she had the comfort of seeing her daughter and her grandchildren. When very soon Horpyna would prepare to depart and would not consent to leave one of her children with her mother, the poor old woman would burst into tears, and for several days she would remain seated silently in front of her stove, scorching her face and swallowing her tears; but lest she should bring shame upon her daughter, she regarded her wishes and never went to her house. This continual solitude and constant longing had rendered the widow much sadder than formerly; she found her only consolation in the companionship of Iermola, to whom she could speak of Horpyna and make her lamentations. He in his turn talked to her of Radionek, and in any important matter always sought the advice and experience of his old friend.
So at this moment, when the question of undertaking the manufacture of glazed pottery arose, he hastened to take counsel of her, leaving Radionek and Huluk busy about some work in the shop.
"Well, what news have you brought from the market?" asked the widow. "Did my Horpyna happen to be there?"
"Yes, she was there," said Iermola. "One is scarcely able to recognize her, she has become such a fine lady; she was driving in a painted carriage with two horses and handsome leather harness. They put up at the hotel, and came out to the fair grounds to make purchases."
"And she did not ask you anything about me?" sighed the old woman.