“I walked too fast,” he exclaimed, and drew one shirt sleeve across his face to wipe the sweat from his forehead. The girl drew a bottle from concealment, and held it out toward him. “Today father went to the wine-dresser’s house and brought back a cask of wine. We drank some of it, too,” she explained, turning aside a little. She stood resting her weight on one foot; with one hand she held a grass stalk, one end of which she was chewing.
The boy took the bottle and shook it softly. Then he lifted it to the light, nodded, rubbed the neck of the bottle energetically with one hand, coughed, spat, threw his head back and lifted the bottle slowly. For a long time one heard only the regular gurgle—gurgle—gurgle.
“I heard you a long way off. You came through the woods, didn’t you?” began the girl, turning toward him again, as the hand with the bottle fell slowly to his knee.
“I sang to pass away the time. I’m not so afraid either—in the night—when I sing. The witches don’t dare come near then.”
“I was really worried. I was afraid you’d gone too far toward Banovica. Old people say that once—there, a man was murdered. The witches choked him to death.”
“Nothing like that will ever happen to me.”
“Keep still! Keep still! Tell me the truth—didn’t you go too near the horse herdsmen? What if they had seen you? Heavens!”
“They didn’t see me, and if they did—what do I care? I’m not doing anything wrong.”
“But, God in Heaven, you know what sort of fellows they are. They are all mad because you come from another parish—to see me. They might do something to you and, as it falls out, tonight Mihalčic’ Tono is with them—on the meadow. He’s the devil.”
“Ah—shut-up with that. Did you get through in the vineyard today?”