knows all God's secrets, and not every one knows such things though he have a shaven head."
"But might you not make a vow to the Lord Jesus himself?"
"Certainly, because He is above all. But that would be as if, for example, thy father killed a peasant of mine and I should go with a complaint to the king at Cracow. What would the king say? He would say this to me: 'I am master over the whole kingdom, and thou comest to me with thy peasant! Are there not officials? Canst thou not go to the town, to my castellan, and my intermediary?' The Lord Jesus is master over the whole world—dost understand? but for small affairs He has saints."
"Then I will tell you what," said Zbyshko, who came in at the end of the conversation," make a vow to our late queen that, if she acts for you, you will make a pilgrimage to her tomb in Cracow; are the miracles few that were performed in our presence there? Why seek foreign saints when we have our own lady, who is better than others?"
"True! If I knew that she was for wounds."
"And if she is not for wounds! No common saint will dare refuse her, and should he refuse she will get what she asks from the Lord God, for she is no ordinary weaver woman, but the Queen of Poland."
"Who brought the last pagan land to the Christian faith. Thou hast spoken wisely," said Matsko. "She must stand high in God's counsels, and it is certain that no common person will contradict her. So, to gain health, I will do as thou sayest."
This advice pleased also Yagenka, who could not refrain from admiring Zbyshko's good sense; and Matsko made a solemn vow that same evening, and thenceforth drank bear's fat with still greater confidence, waiting from day to day for unfailing recovery. But in a week he began to lose hope. He said that the fat was "storming," in his stomach, and on his skin near the last rib something was rising which looked like a knob. After ten days he was still worse; the lump increased and grew red; Matsko was very weak, and when a fever came he began to prepare again for death. On a certain night he roused Zbyshko on a sudden.
"Light the torch quickly," said he, "for something is happening me,—whether good or bad, I know not."
Zbyshko sprang to his feet, and, without striking a flint, blew a fire in the next room, lighted a pine torch and returned.
