delight, for the woodpecker was to them the special herald of good tidings. Besides, the forest was full of those birds, and their hammering came in from all sides, strongly, insistently, like the labor of mankind. One might have said that all those birds had their forge in that forest, and since early morning had been hurrying thither to perform earnest labor. To Matsko and the men of Mazovia it seemed that they were listening to adzes fashioning rafters for a new house, and it called to their minds native regions.
But time passed, and still there was nothing to be heard save the voices of birds and the sounds of the forest. The mist lying near the ground was growing thinner, the sun had risen notably and had begun to give warmth, but the men were lying low all that interval. Finally Hlava, to whom waiting and silence had grown irksome, turned to Zbyshko's ear and whispered,—
"My lord, if God grant that not one of the dog brothers go with his life, might we not advance in the night-time, cross the river, surprise the castle and take it?"
"Dost think that boats are not on guard there, and that the men in them have not a password?"
"They are on guard; but prisoners if under the knife will give that word, nay more, will call it out to them in German. If we reach the island the castle itself will—"
Here he stopped, since Zbyshko put his hand over his lips suddenly, for from the road came the croaking of a raven.
"Be silent," said he, "that is a signal."
Something like two "Our Fathers" later, on the road appeared a Jmud man on a small, shaggy horse, whose hoofs were bound in sheepskin, so as not to make noise or leave traces.
The rider looked quickly on both sides and, hearing on a sudden an answer to the croaking, darted into the forest, and in one moment was with Zbyshko.
"They are coming!" said he.
