'And the hay?'
'That will dry again if God gives fine weather.'
Soon the entire household were baling in the house and farm-buildings; the fire was burning brightly, and the sun peeped out from behind the clouds.
On the other bank of the river the Germans were at work. Barelegged, and armed with long poles, they waded carefully through the flooded fields towards the river to catch the drifting logs.
Stasiek was calming down; he was not tingling all over now. From time to time he still fancied he heard the thunder, and strained his ears, but it was only the noise of the others baling with wooden grain measures. There was much commotion in the passage where Jendrek pushed Magda about instead of baling.
'Steady there,' cried his mother, 'when I get hold of something hard
I'll beat you black and blue!'
But Jendrek laughed, for he could tell by a shade in her voice that she was no longer cross.
Courage returned to Stasiek's heart. Supposing he were to peep out into the yard… would there still be a terrible black cloud? Why not try? He put his head out of the back door and saw the blue sky flecked with little white clouds hurrying eastwards. The cock was flapping his wings and crowing, heavy drops were sparkling on the bushes, golden streaks of sunlight penetrated into the passage, and bright reflections from the surface of the waters beckoned to him.
He flew out joyfully through the pools of water, delighting in the rainbow-coloured sheaves that were spurting from under his feet; he stood on a plank and punted himself along with a stick, pretending that he was sailing in deep water.
'Come, Jendrek!' he called.