“Tut, tut, don’t talk so much or I’ll get mixed up! So you see it is clear that you loved a workman once and that therefore you ought to marry a workman now and live at the mill. And I shall go on loving you as I always have, even if I marry ten Motrias.”
Galya actually rubbed her eyes; she thought she was dreaming.
“What nonsense are you talking, man? Either I’m absolutely crazy or else there’s a screw loose in your head. How can I marry a workman now that you are a miller? And how can you marry me when you’re sending the match-makers to Motria? What nonsense you’re talking, man! Cross yourself with your left hand!”
“What do you mean?” answered the miller. “Do you think I haven’t a workman at the mill? What about Gavrilo? Isn’t he one? He’s a little stupid, I know, but that will be all the better for us, Galya, my darling.”
Only then did the girl at last understand what the miller was driving at with his cunning talk. You should have seen her throw up her arms and heard her scream!
“Oi, mother, dear mother, listen to what he is saying! He wants to turn Turk and to keep two wives! Fetch the pitchfork out of the cottage quick, while I settle him with my hands!”
So she fell upon the miller, and the miller fell back. He escaped to the stile, put one foot upon it, and said:
“Oho! So that’s your game, little viper! Very well then, quit this hut with your mother! To-morrow I’ll take it for your debts. Away with you!”
But she shouted back:
“Get out of my garden, you Turk, as long as it’s mine! If you don’t I’ll scratch you with my nails so that even your Motria won’t know where your eyes and nose and mouth have been. Not only will you not have two sweethearts, not one will look at an eyeless creature like you.”