"Did you go there alone?"
"I carried Mikita the potatoes I had sold him."
"What is the news down there?"
"Oh, there is some news; there is a great deal of news," answered Chwedko, seating himself on the trunk of a fallen tree. "The old chief of squadron is dead."
"The old man is dead!" replied Iermola. "Peace to his soul! he has suffered a long time."
"And he knew pretty well how to make others suffer."
"So he is really dead!" repeated Iermola. "You see old men must look out; death may call them any time. I trust he will not come for us very soon."
"He was very sick," said Chwedko; "and I do not see how he held out so many years. But there is a regular upturning at the dwor."
"And how about his son?"
"His son and his people and every one whom he has tormented so much shed fountains of tears over him. All the people from the village are in the courtyard; it is a pitiful scene of desolation."