'Eh… how should he be well? He can hardly fetch his breath any more.'
'Neighbour… you don't say so… neighbour…' She was bending down over the old man.
'Priest,' he sighed.
'Dear me… just fancy… dear me, he doesn't know me! The poor man wants the priest. He's dying, that's certain, he's all but dead already… dear me! Well, and did you send for his Reverence?'
'Have I got any one to send?'
'But you don't mean to let a Christian soul die without the sacrament?'
'I can't run off and leave him alone, and perhaps…he may recover.'
'Don't you believe it… hoho… just listen to his breathing. That means that his inside is withering up. It's just as it was with my Walek last year when he was so ill.'
'Well, dear, you'd better go for the priest, make haste… look!'
'All right, all right. Poor thing! He looks as if he couldn't last much longer. I must make haste… I'm off…' and she tied her apron more firmly over her head.