up the wind, and when that wearies you, why, just call the tenant, take a little sip and smoke and have a little game of cards. . . .”
“Oh, but I’ll never drink down the longing for you nor smoke it away. I know it can’t be done,” piteously cried poor Matýsek and held on all the more tightly to Barka’s bed covers. Great tears rolled down his cheeks meanwhile and Barka, unable to gaze longer at his grief with dry eyes, relieved herself by weeping with him.
“Do you know what,” she sobbed, throwing her well arm around his neck, “if you will be very lonely and if you can’t get along without me—you need not leave me there alone. Just start out running after me.”
You should have heard into what joyous peals of laughter Matýsek burst when Barka told him how best to punish the great loneliness. He was now willing to let her go on the pilgrimage and no longer offered any objections, for just as soon as he would be the least bit lonesome he would start out to meet her there. Barka would not even be dreaming of it there on her pilgrimage, and suddenly somebody would seize her by the apron and would refuse to let her go. Yes, she would see! He’d show her!
If Matýsek had let the children go alone to Bezděz for the berries, they would have done to a hair exactly what he prophesied to Barka. His journey passed quickly, for he often had to stop to scold the children and give them proper training. Whenever they liked
