dearly than they love their parents,” suggested others again. “You have at once his elder brother Joseph,” responded the former speaker.
“Faugh! he, indeed, why he never loved anyone in his life.” The opinion thus pronounced apparently expressed the general sentiment, for no one contradicted it.
At this moment a heart-rending wail resounded from the farmyard, and attracted the attention of all the neighbours present. They peered through the half opened gate and said to another, “’Tis Frank; we might have known it.”
Frank ran out on to the village green, his hair dishevelled, his face wet with tears, his eyes still filled with tears, and sobbed forth amid sighs and gulpings, “We have lost grandfather, our people drive me from him—oh! unhappy that I am!” And he cried until he choked.
During this outburst of sorrow the neighbours were silent. Only Vena took upon himself the task of continuing the conversation. “Ah! we know why they have driven thee out. They want to grab! They are grab, grabbing!” and he began to represent in dumb show how they were scraping everything into their pockets. But all at once, while thus engaged, Vena paused, clapped his hand to his forehead and said “Pantata, the mayor! how forgetful I have been! When I went to the town this morning old Loyka gave me this paper, and says he
