“Probably she will have a great many packages like you do, sir,” said old Nichifor, scratching his head. “That doesn’t matter; she can have them. My carriage is large; it can hold a good deal. But without bargaining, Master Shtrul, you give me sixteen shillings and a gold irmal and I’ll take her there quite easily; for you’ll see, now I’ve attended to it and put some of this excellent grease into it, the carriage will run like a spinning-wheel.”
“You must be satisfied with nine shillings, Mosh Nichifor, and my son will give you a tip when you get to Peatra.”
“All right, then; may God be with us, Master Shtrul. I am glad the fair is in full swing just now; perhaps I shall get a customer for the return journey. Now I would like to know when we have to start?”
“Now, at once, Mosh Nichifor, if you are ready.”
“I am ready, Master Shtrul; I have only to water the mares. Go and get your daughter-in-law ready.”
Old Nichifor was energetic and quick at his work and he rapidly threw some fodder into the carriage, spread out a couple of leather cushions, put to the mares, flung his sheepskin cloak round his shoulders, took his whip in his hand and was up and away. Master Shtrul had scarcely reached home when old Nichifor drew up his carriage at the door. Malca—that was the name of Master Shtrul’s daughter-in-law—came out to take a look at the driver.
This is Malca’s story: it appeared that Peatra was her native place; she was very red in the face, because she had been crying at parting with her parents-in-law. It was the first time she had been in Neamtzu; it was her wedding visit as they say with us. It was not much more than two weeks since she had married Itzic, Master Shtrul’s son, or, it would be better to say, in all good fellowship, that Itzic had married Malca. He had quitted his parents’ house according to the custom, and in two weeks’ time Itzic had brought Malca to Neamtzu and placed her in his parents’ hands and had returned quickly to Peatra to look after his business.
“You have kept your promise, Mosh Nichifor?”
“Certainly, Master Shtrul; my word is my word. I don’t trouble myself much. As for the journey, it’s as well to set out early and to halt in good time in the evening.”
“Will you be able to reach Peatra by the evening, Mosh Nichifor.”