That same day Maciek drove a sledge to the forest, taking with him an axe, a bite of food, and 'Silly Zoska's' daughter. The mother had never asked after her, and Maciek had mothered the child; he fed her, took her to the stable with him at night and to his work in the day-time.
The child was so weak that it hardly ever uttered a sound. Every one, especially Sobieska, had predicted her early death.
'She won't last a week.'…'She'll die tomorrow.'…'She's as good as gone already.'
But she had lived through the week and longer, and even when she had been taken for dead once, she opened her tired eyes to the world again. Maciek paid no attention to these prognostications. 'Never fear,' he said, 'nothing will happen to her.' He continued to feed her in the cowshed after dark.
'What makes you take trouble about that wretched child, Maciek?' Slimakowa would say; 'if you talked to her about the Blessed Bible itself she would take no notice; she's dreadfully stupid, I never saw such a noodle in all my life.'
'She doesn't talk, because she has sense,' said Maciek; 'when she begins to talk she will be as wise as an old man.'
That was because Maciek was in the habit of talking to her about his work, whatever he might be doing, manuring, threshing, or patching his clothes.
To-day he was taking her with him to the forest, tied to the sledge, and wrapt in the remnants of his old sheepskin and a shawl. Uphill and downhill over the hummocks bumped the sledge, until they arrived on level ground, where the slanting rays of the sun, endlessly reflected from the snow-crystals, fell into their eyes. The child began to cry.
Maciek turned her sideways, scolding: 'Now then, I told you to shut your eyes! No man, and if he were the bishop himself, can look at the sun; it's God's lantern. At daybreak the Lord Jesus takes it into his hand and has a look round his gospodarstwo. In the winter, when the frost is hard, he takes a short cut and sleeps longer. But he makes up for it in the summer, and looks all over the world till eight o'clock at night. That's why one should be astir from daybreak till sunset. But you may sleep longer, little one, for you aren't much use yet. Woa!' They entered the forest. 'Here we are! this is the forest, and it belongs to the squire. Slimak has bought a cartload of wood, and we must get it home before the roads are too bad. Steady, lads!' They stopped by a square pile of wood. Maciek untied the child and put her in a sheltered place, took out a bottle of milk and put it to her lips. 'Drink it and get strong, there will be some work for you. The logs are heavy, and you must lift them into the sledge. You don't want the milk? Naughty girl! Call out when you want it…. A little child like that makes things cheerful for a man,' he reflected. 'Formerly there never was any one to open one's mouth to, now one can talk all the time. Now watch how the work should be done. Jendrek would pull the logs about, and get tired in no time and stop. But mind you take them from the top, carefully, and lift them into the sledge, one by one like this. Never be in a hurry, little one, or else the damned wood will tire you out. It doesn't want to go on to the sledge, for it has sense, and knows what to expect. We all prefer our own corner of the world, even if it is a bad one. But to you and me it's all the same, we have no corner of our own; die here or die there, it makes no difference.' Now and then he rested, or tucked the child up more closely.
Meanwhile, the sky had reddened, and a strong north-west wind sprang up, saturated with moisture. The forest, held in its winter sleep, slowly began to move and to talk. The green pine needles trembled, then the branches and boughs began to sway and beckon to each other. The tops, and finally the stems rocked forward and backward, as if they contemplated starting on a march. It was as if their eternal fixedness grieved them, and they were setting out in a tumultuous crowd to the ends of the world. Sometimes they became motionless near the sledge, as though they did not wish to betray their secret to a human being. Then the tramp of countless feet, the march past of whole columns of the right wing, could be heard distinctly; they approached, and passed at a distance. The left wing followed; the snow creaked under their footsteps, they were already in a line with the sledge. The middle column, emboldened, began to call in mighty whispers. Then they halted angrily, stood still in their places and seemed to roar: 'Go away! go away, and do not hinder us!'