We now pass over an interval of ten years before we again seek the child and old man whom we left growing and working, and dreaming hopefully of the future.

Everything in the neighbourhood had changed very much, and nothing more than Radionek, whom no one would have recognized, he had grown so tall and handsome.

The peasants, whose children, early accustomed to rough work, grow slowly and seem with difficulty to get away from the earth, looked upon Iermola's adopted son with astonishment, and shook their heads, saying that he must owe all his strength, elegance, and beauty to the vigorous blood and strong constitution which he inherited by birth. None of his little companions in the village could be compared to him; and it was certain that none of them had such a father as his, or had been, like him, surrounded from the cradle by constant care and tender love. Radionek's appearance attracted every one at once; his features were fine and remarkably regular, his face rather too oval, his nose straight, his mouth small and expressive, his eyes brown and full of fire and life, and his whole countenance full of pride and happiness, sensibility and strength. His hair was cut close above his forehead after the Polesian fashion, thus revealing still more the nobility of his expression by exposing his brow; his beautiful, fine long hair, which had been allowed to grow on the back of his head, fell in golden curls upon his shoulders. Seeing the elegance of his vigorous and supple body, one could scarcely believe that he had been deprived of his natural nourishment when an infant. The breadth of his shoulders foretold a figure of unusual height and strength; the simplicity of his education, which had early accustomed him to rough work, inconveniences of all sorts, and the inclemency of the seasons, had gifted him with the agility, vigour, and elasticity of a young wild animal.

The expression of Radionek's eyes betokened a bright clear mind; he had a firm, frank glance, as though he knew nothing about the struggles and burdens of life, or at least, if he knew of them, did not fear them. The child, young and full of curiosity, lively and tender, animated by pure and ardent sentiments, owed his amiable qualities and his uncommon development to the affectionate heart and tender love of his excellent father. Thus it is that the love of one being is shed upon all who surround him, elevates and ennobles them, and bestows upon them intelligence and strength,--unique and precious gifts which no other power on earth can bring them. Radionek, who felt himself surrounded by Iermola's care and protection, and who from his infancy had seen about him only what was cordial and tender, was accustomed to sweet sentiments, and had imbibed them; he loved all things,--and loving, he was happy. All the inhabitants of the village considered him their nursling; and with the exception of the steward Hudny, who was still at Popielnia, though each year he made preparations to take a large farm, there was not a single person who did not take great pleasure in welcoming and petting the little boy.

In all their plays, in all their undertakings, the children of the village, both girls and boys, obeyed the slightest sign from Radionek; and although he was a little better clothed and was handsomer than any of them, and though he knew more than they did, he never took advantage of his superiority, or even overestimated it. He was pleasant and affable to all, and never wounded any one. It is rare that any real father ever watches over and teaches his child as Iermola watched over and taught Radionek. During his earliest years, he had cared for his body; later, when his ears and his eyes were opened, he began to awaken his soul and to prepare him for the struggles of life.

The instinct of affection had in this respect guided him marvellously; and thus was wrought imperceptibly one of the miracles of life. The master learned and developed along with his pupil. Will had enlarged and softened his heart; feeling had elevated and enlightened his mind. In seeking for the true and the good for his child, Iermola had found them for himself; the chilled, sleeping, half-dead seed had produced fruit, late, but excellent and fine.

The old man, wishing to instruct the child, had been obliged first to learn himself; he had studied, compared, reflected, meditated, prayed, and he had finally learned by the power of love what is rarely accomplished by wit and reason. He knew but little, it is true; but that little was a great deal. The child knew how to read, and read no book but the Bible.

Here it was that he found nourishment, from the healthful source of life.

Besides, the old man, who feared constantly that he might die and leave Radionek entirely orphaned, had taken care to teach him his trade as soon as he had acquired some skill and quickness, and to make him fully acquainted with all the little secrets of his daily work, the knowledge of which gives a man independence and teaches him to depend upon himself. Our peasants are still in that stage of barbarism which belongs to half-civilized people, and which gives them a certain superiority over civilized races, enabling them to supply all their own wants. Even a very young villager knows how to do a great many things. Every day he is obliged to try his skill in some way; he is at once farm-hand, carpenter, miller, architect, mason, dyer, weaver, and in almost any case of urgent necessity he easily succeeds in doing what is needed.

Among people living in a state of higher civilization and bound together by joint responsibility, the case is quite different. Such a mode of living reduces them to real inferiority; the English emigrants who settle as colonists in new countries almost all succumb to the difficulties of a life which is unendurable to them. Not only in large cities, but even in the villages, the necessaries of life can all be bought ready-made, and consequently each one knows only one trade; all necessities can be obtained by exchange. It is true that in this way each particular article is skilfully manufactured and sold cheaply, and a profit is made by exchange. We cannot, however, recognize as healthy and beneficial the result of civilization in the exclusive employment of the faculties of man, which in time transforms him into a sort of machine, and if he is thrown out of his place, in the end renders him useless, as a wheel cast from the axle. This evil is only the fatal consequence of the imprudent and excessive division of labour, which offers great advantages doubtless, but which, carried to an extreme, presents great dangers. In this respect our nation is not yet subject to the prejudices which in the West exercise such a baleful influence.

Iermola, like every peasant of his time, knew therefore a great many things which he had learned in the business and events of ordinary life; and if he did not place these things in the honourable rank of attainments, they nevertheless constituted for him an inestimable treasure.

A potter by trade, and a very skilful potter, he was at the same time a tolerable fisherman, having learned, at first for his own amusement, to use the netting-needle and to set weirs. He used the axe skilfully, was not unacquainted with the different sorts of work necessary in a mill, was an excellent teamster, and knew a great many things in connection with out-of-door work which are usually known only by regular farm-hands.

While the child, during these ten years, had grown wonderfully and become much handsomer, our good Iermola had grown very little older; there was scarcely any noticeable change in his appearance. He stooped perhaps a little more; and sometimes his limbs were stiffer and more weary. He still devoted himself constantly to his adopted son, and worked in his pottery; and this continual activity kept up his courage and strength. One of the most important secrets of the higher knowledge of life--which unfortunately is not learned from the lips of a master--is a healthful and constant employment. Many old men have prematurely given up life, which they might have sensibly prolonged if they had not allowed the fire to grow cold and die out. In the laborious life of peasants all the hours of the day are occupied; the body does not languish in weak repose; motion strengthens and preserves it. With us, very often intellectual languor and idle effeminacy kill the body, formed to move and act; the unused organs fall into a sort of atrophy; the intellectual faculties even, reduced to inaction, wear out and are destroyed; we sleep and sleep, and finally we cannot waken. Iermola, on the contrary, lived a life of labour and motion; consequently he did not seem to grow old, he at most only faded.

In fact, the manufacture of his pottery was not very laborious, neither were the household duties which devolved upon him; Radionek and Huluk spared him all the most tiresome work. But his life was not an idle one; and he did not give up a single hour more to rest during the day under pretexts of fatigue or great old age.

The deep peace which reigned in his mind and heart contributed wonderfully toward preserving him in such a healthy and happy condition. He could not even imagine that any one would some day come and demand the child of him, and have the right to take him away. A few years more and he would see Radionek, his darling child, a man, comfortably settled, married, no longer needing help, flying with his own wings. The trade in pottery increased daily. Old Procope had died a few years after Iermola had ended his apprenticeship with him; and his pottery kiln, managed by a young servant, had yielded only more and more indifferent articles till it had finally fallen entirely into disuse.

But Iermola had no need of this favourable circumstance to dispose of his pottery, for which there was always an excellent market; but he was none the less well pleased to find that the town of Malyczki was henceforth supplied from Popielnia. Moreover, the vessels made from his excellent clay were so solid and so light, had, in fact, so many attractive qualities, that it was not necessary to recommend them very much; it was not even necessary to carry them very far, but only to the little neighbouring town, where the Jews and hawkers bought them up at once. The potters in the vicinity made only extremely fragile ware, of a dark, heavy sort of clay; consequently, as soon as white pottery was put upon the market, there was a rush for it, and it sold for much better prices than the other.

Iermola made only pots and dishes and housekeeping utensils of different sizes, shaping them always after the long-used models, and never thought of inventing other forms; but Radionek, who had now grown to be quite a big boy and was becoming every day more active, inquiring, and mischievous, began to weary of turning and burning perpetually the same vessels of the same old-fashioned shape. At first he began to vary the stripes and the red festoons which are always found on the pottery of the country; he amused himself by getting up new and more complicated and elegant designs, which he constantly altered. Then he took it into his head to give new and less simple forms to his dishes,--to make plates, pitchers, and little twin vases, of a quite new curve and design. Finally, he undertook to manufacture clay toys for children, and even small figures of horses, which also served as whistles, thus carrying out without knowing it the old Hindoo tradition; for in the old Indian land small horses made of baked clay are still used as talismans in the fields and gardens. All his playthings were badly baked and not very successful; but the old man had not the heart to forbid his dear Radionek such childish amusements.

When for the first time all these new shapes and designs of pottery ware were taken to the fair and displayed in the market, the good women gathered round them and shook their heads long and gravely. Such novelties frightened them and seemed useless; they were accustomed only to the old sizes and shapes, and severely criticised these innovations. But these little fancy articles, being cheap and amusing, pleased the children and young girls; the rich villagers bought for their children the little horses and twin vases instead of obwarzanki^[6] and honey cakes; and by the time the fair was over, the whole supply was well sold. Iermola, highly delighted, smiled as he stooped down and kissed Radionek's forehead; and the boy clapped his hands, jumped up, and threw his arms around Iermola's neck.

But at this same fair our Radionek spied some glazed porringers and plates, some saucepans which were of a beautiful green colour inside, and other utensils ornamented with a brilliant vitreous glazing which Iermola and he did not know how to give to their wares; and the boy began to feel anxious and somewhat envious.

They returned home; Radionek was quite gloomy.

"What is the matter? Should you not, on the contrary, be rejoicing?" said Iermola to him. "Your little designs have been successful beyond your expectations; why are you making yourself miserable, my child?"

The child looked up at him and embraced him in silence. "See here, father," said he, after a moment, "when I think of all those beautiful glazed things, I cannot sleep."

"Those glazed things? You wish to make some like them? And what good would that do? Our wares, such as they are, sell well, thank God! In order to make glazed dishes, you must have another kind of clay, and work it in another way, and perhaps use other implements; that would give us a great deal of trouble. Why bother our heads with it all?"

"But, father, you did not see how much the merchants charged for their glazed porringers. And how beautiful they were, all painted with different-coloured flowers, and so solid and neat-looking! The people said that nothing one might put into them would stain them, as is the case with other kinds, and also that it is much less trouble to keep them clean. Now, father, why should not we make them also?"

"Good Lord! what sort of an idea have you taken into your head?" cried Iermola, with a sigh, for he was content with his present life, and desired no other. "You do not know, my child, how difficult it is. As for me, it is too late for me to learn new things; and for you, it is too soon. If you desire it very much, you can learn when you are a man."

To this Radionek made no reply. He kept to himself the earnest desire which he had conceived; and though in the bottom of his heart he never forgot the beautiful glazed pottery, he spoke no more about it, for fear of worrying the old man.

But the good father desired above all things to gratify his child's wishes, although he did not sympathize with his youthful hopes, which might lead to such bitter disappointment if the enterprise was unsuccessful. Good Iermola therefore resolved to spare neither time nor pains until he could somehow make that unfortunate glazed pottery; and as he never decided upon any important matter without consulting his neighbour the widow, he went out one evening to ask her advice.

In this other house also, the ten years which had passed had brought many noticeable changes, which had come about gradually and almost insensibly; the widow had lost some of her strength, but she continued to manage actively her house and farm. Horpyna, now the wife of a steward, lived a few miles away; having begun life making her own dresses and wearing a silk handkerchief on her head, she now wore bonnets and hats, and was not quite happy when her mother came to see her, because she wished to pass as the daughter of a gentleman. She rarely came to Popielnia; and when she did come, it was always because she had some request to make of her mother. The old widow of Harasym was always thankful for these short and rare visits, and was always ready to give anything Horpyna asked, provided she had the comfort of seeing her daughter and her grandchildren. When very soon Horpyna would prepare to depart and would not consent to leave one of her children with her mother, the poor old woman would burst into tears, and for several days she would remain seated silently in front of her stove, scorching her face and swallowing her tears; but lest she should bring shame upon her daughter, she regarded her wishes and never went to her house. This continual solitude and constant longing had rendered the widow much sadder than formerly; she found her only consolation in the companionship of Iermola, to whom she could speak of Horpyna and make her lamentations. He in his turn talked to her of Radionek, and in any important matter always sought the advice and experience of his old friend.

So at this moment, when the question of undertaking the manufacture of glazed pottery arose, he hastened to take counsel of her, leaving Radionek and Huluk busy about some work in the shop.

"Well, what news have you brought from the market?" asked the widow. "Did my Horpyna happen to be there?"

"Yes, she was there," said Iermola. "One is scarcely able to recognize her, she has become such a fine lady; she was driving in a painted carriage with two horses and handsome leather harness. They put up at the hotel, and came out to the fair grounds to make purchases."

"And she did not ask you anything about me?" sighed the old woman.

"Of course,--of course she did; how could she have failed to do so? She charged me to give you her love, and she called to me from her carriage for the express purpose; she patted my little Radionek's cheeks."

"And did she have any of her children with her?"

"No, not one."

And this exchange of question and answer would have continued endlessly had not the widow been struck with the expression of anxiety and grief upon her neighbour's face.

"But what is the matter with you? Are you sick, old man?" said she.

"Ah! you are right," answered Iermola, sighing and seating himself on the bench; "I have another great trouble."

"Well, well! tell me about it. We will see what can be done."

"Ah! this will be a difficult matter to remedy. My youngster, who is obstinate and impetuous as any crazy young thing, has seen the glazed pottery at the fair; and now he has taken it into his head to manufacture some of it, and I cannot possibly make him give up the idea."

"Well, did I not tell you so?"

"What did you tell me?"

"Why, don't you remember? When he began to make his little horses, and his little queer-shaped jugs which scarcely held a pint apiece, I predicted that by the end of the year he would be wishing to make beautiful fine pottery."

"Well, it has happened as you said," answered Iermola, "and now it is impossible to make him listen to reason. I have said what I could to him, but that does not prevent my being anxious to please him; and I really do not know how to do it."

"Why, go and examine the glazed ware closely."

"Ah, mother, I would willingly do that; but it would not help me at all. It is not difficult to turn the dishes; but to glaze them is a very difficult matter, because several drugs must be mixed together for that purpose, and besides, one must know how long to bake them. My eyes are not very good now, and neither is my memory," sighed the old man. "But if you only knew, mother, how much I would like to please my child!"

"But how can you do it?"

"I do not know yet at all; but even if one cannot succeed, one can always try."

"Yes, I am sure of that," answered the widow, with a smile; "how can you possibly refuse your child anything? I know all about that, you see. I was just so about my Horpyna; we scold and fret, but we end by doing what they wish. Consequently you will go, my poor old man, to learn to make the fine glazed pottery."

"Yes, certainly I shall go," sighed Iermola. "Only I would not like the child to know about it. If I should not succeed, it would trouble him very much, but if I could only learn all by myself-- Good Lord, how glad I would be!"

"That's just the way I used to do,--just the way," cried the widow. "Ah, my God! I know all about it. But tell me, where would you go?"

"I would take a little money and go and look up one or two of the potters who sold the glazed ware at the fair; they might teach me if I paid them. If I did not succeed at once, I would take the child; he would understand at once. The only thing I fear is that they would drive me away. How could I propose such a thing to them,--to come to them to learn for the purpose of taking away their living?"

"Ah! you are right; you might not get along so easily perhaps as you did with Procope; but Nad syrotojn Boh z kalitojn,"^[7] she added, "and with the help of Providence, you may be able to succeed."

"That is what I think," said Iermola, rising to take leave of the widow. "To-morrow I will pretend to have a little business, and will go to town; please, neighbour, while I am gone, have an eye upon Huluk and Radionek, and do not let them cut up any pranks. They would just as soon go out on the river in a leaky boat or do some other such silly thing."

"Oh, no; they are very quiet, reasonable boys."

"Yes, certainly they are, thank God; but they are so hot-blooded. If a notion strikes them, they are capable of getting lost in the forest, or jumping into the river. May God preserve us from any such misfortune!"

"But it will be hard to keep them near me."

"Certainly; but you can see what they do, and warn them, neighbour."

So saying, the two old people separated, and Iermola immediately announced to the boy that the Jews in the little town owed him some money for his pottery, and had told him to come for it after the fair was over; and that as he wished to collect all the little sums which were due him, he perhaps would be obliged to remain away some days.

He then enjoined upon both boys to be very good, and work well during his absence, and not to go near the river, or wander in the forest.

"Are you going to walk?" Radionek asked him.

"What do you mean? I surely shall not go in a carriage," answered the old man, smilingly.

"But couldn't you hire a wagon?"

"How could I? There is not a single horse in the whole village, except Chwedko's mare, which he would not lend for anything in the world; and as for being dragged along by oxen, I would rather walk. Besides, my legs swell when I sit all the time, and it will not do me any harm to stand up a while."

Poor old Iermola did not remember his age, and attributed the swelling of his limbs to his sedentary occupation, while it was really the effect of age and weakness. He was never willing to spend anything upon himself; and from the moment his business began to pay him anything, he put by all he could spare for Radionek, so that if he should die, the child would not be left penniless. He would certainly have preferred to use Chwedko's mare; but that would have cost him something, and Iermola was extremely economical in everything that concerned himself.

So Radionek was unable to persuade him to hire a wagon; but toward evening he sent Huluk to the village secretly, to learn whether any one was going to town. Then, as he had laid by a few coppers, the product of his work, he charged Huluk, if he found no other opportunity, to hire Chwedko's mare, enjoining it upon the old man to say that having himself some business in the town, he offered a seat gratis to his neighbour Iermola. Everything happened as fortunately as possible. Chwedko's wagon was not hired out for the next day; and the old man, having received two florins for his trouble, engaged positively to feign and lie. Accordingly, by the end of the evening Radionek had everything arranged; and when Huluk returned from the village Radionek went and kissed the old man's hand.

"Father," said he, as he did so, "we have just met Chwedko; he is going to town to-morrow with his mare, and he says that he is lonely by himself and wants you to go with him. In this way it will cost you nothing, good father."

"Chwedko? Where? How?" asked Iermola, in great surprise, as he embraced Radionek. "You are joking, my child, aren't you?"

"No, indeed; ask Huluk," replied Radionek, who exercised over his young valet an authority born of intelligence and affection.

"Oh, certainly not," answered the boy. "I understood him plainly, I assure you; he even begged that you should not start till he comes, for to-morrow, before day, he will be at the door of your cabin."

Iermola bent his head in token of consent, and after that was anxious only concerning the purpose of his journey.

At the bottom of his heart he was quite content to go with Chwedko and so rest his old limbs. He embraced Radionek once more, and then went to bed, always thinking about the beautiful glazed pottery.

Radionek, who was now silent on the subject, thought of it as much. Although he no longer spoke about it, lest he should worry the old man, in his dreams he was constantly handling the large dishes and beautifully glazed pitchers, all painted red and green and white, black and yellow, so as to make them bright and beautiful and attractive. The poor child wearied his brain trying to discover the secret of those preparations which to him seemed like magic, but having no idea, no suggestions on the subject, it was impossible for him to come anywhere near the truth; he could only sigh and worry and grow weary.