the old people dwelt in the house they had hitherto occupied, which was called the farm house (na statku), and which we also will so name.
In the farm house the Loykas were to be hospodars for six years.
When harvest time drew near the farm-stead filled with harvesters and harvest women. It was gay in the courtyard below. Scythes and sickles clashed, rakes were being mended, everywhere there was a sound of hammering—just as if a clock was striking in the courtyard. Old Loyka, who had scarcely spoken five words since his son’s wedding day, grew young again at the season of harvest. He was so accustomed to those two chambers by the coach-house, he used always to find there some wayfarer with whom he gladly conversed, and since his son’s wedding day these chambers had been empty. And it oppressed him to have no one to converse with. But at harvest time the farmstead filled with people, moreover, harvest men and harvest women filled the two chambers, and so Loyka felt as though he had come to himself again. Now once more people went to and fro, the courtyard was full of voices and the noise of preparations—so old Loyka was once again contented. Often at early morning he might be seen pacing to and fro the courtyard, pleased with the flavour of his pipe, and with a settled smile upon his face.
