XV.
[THE OTHER FATHER.]
We have carefully described the life of these simple poor people, and the most important events which had happened to them,--the changes in their employments, the acquisition of new acquaintances, the least increase of their comfort. Their days passed in perfect uniformity and an equally profound peacefulness; Radionek at least conceived of no existence happier than this which had fallen to his lot. His father loved him and as far as he possibly could gratified his wishes; he succeeded in his undertakings; he had something to occupy him, something to amuse him; and the distant and unknown future seemed smiling and peaceful.
Sometimes, it is true, the child sat dreamily on the door-sill of the cabin with his eyes fixed on the waters of the river Horyn, on the woods and fields, paying by a moment of inexpressible sadness his debt to the vague and infinite desires and aspirations which arise in the heart of man through the whole course of his life. Then would recur to his mind the remembrance of things his father had told him,--the strange manner of his being found under the oak-tree, his mysterious origin, and the singular and incomprehensible fate which had cast him into the old man's arms. Radionek could not comprehend why he had been forgotten and abandoned; something told him that he would be remembered some day. Sometimes it seemed to him in the silence that he heard the sound of wheels and horses coming to announce the arrival of guests whom he was expecting,--strange, terrible, unknown guests.
In his imagination he often pictured to himself under various forms those parents whom he had never known; but whenever he thought of the grief that his departure would be to Iermola, the bitterness of the separation from him, his constant solitude, he burst into tears and resolved never to leave him. In him as in all other young and ardent beings awoke the desire to see new things, to do something different from the old life; but he felt in the bottom of his heart that whatever he might gain by a change of position, he would surely lose some portion of his real happiness. Where could he be better off? Where happier or freer? He worked only as much as he wished to do, varying his occupations; and the old man rarely had anything to say. It is true that Iermola had reared the boy from the first in such a manner as to be able to control him by encouragement and reason; and he had no need of threats. The old man had made himself a child so as to understand Radionek; the child had endeavoured to attain the maturity of the old man. They shared time and years as they shared all the other things of life.
The days and months were passing in this perfect peace, which at any moment a sudden change might disturb, when one evening Chwedko, returning from Malyczki, passed by the old inn, because the little bridge had been carried away on the other road, and wishing to light his pipe, went into Iermola's house. The gray, who was not at all anxious thus to extend her circuit, had made, it is true, some signs of stopping; but feeling that the stable was not far off, she had allowed herself to be persuaded.
The old potter and the child were seated on the threshold,--the former smoking his pipe, and the latter talking aloud of his hopes for the future,--when Chwedko stopped in front of them with his wagon, and greeted them in his usual fashion, saying,--
"Glory to God!"
"World without end! Where do you come from?"
"From Malyczki."