"And do thou sit still!" answered a jesting voice.
"What ones are ye?"
"What others are ye?"
"But why ride onto us?"
"Why do ye stop the road?"
"Answer, for our crossbows are drawn."
"But our bowstrings are stretched—shoot."
"Answer in human fashion, or there will be trouble."
A joyful song answered Zbyshko:—
"One misery with another is dancing,
Is dancing at the crossroad—
Hots! hots! hots![1]
What good is the dance to them?
The dance is good, but the miseries—
Hots! hots! hots!"
Zbyshko was astonished at hearing such an answer; but the song stopped, and the same voice inquired,—
"How is old Matsko? Is he breathing yet?"
Matsko rose up in the wagon, and said,—
"As God lives, that is one of our people!"
Zbyshko moved forward with his horse.
"Who is inquiring about Matsko?"
"A neighbor, Zyh of Zgorzelitse. I am riding a whole week after you, and inquiring of people along the road."
"Oh save us! Uncle! Zyh of Zgorzelitse is here!" cried Zbyshko.
They fell to greeting each other joyfully, for Zyh was their neighbor, and besides a kind man, loved everywhere for his immense joyousness.
"But how are you?" asked he, shaking Matsko's hand. "Is it hots yet, or is it not hots?"
"Hei, no longer hots," said Matsko. "But I am glad to see you. Dear God! this is as if I were already in Bogdanets."
"But how is it with you? I have heard that the Germans shot you."
"They shot me, the dog brothers. The arrow-point remained between my ribs."
"Fear God! Well, what have you done? Have you tried drinking bear's-fat?"
"You see," said Zbyshko, "every bear is full of fat. If
- ↑ The o in hots is long, like o in note.
