she had only a hard couch on which to weep herself to sleep at night.
The home which but yesterday was like a warm nest now breathed upon them like a winter’s gust. Venik now encountered no loving looks responsive to his own, and heard no loving words. And if Krista was still attached to the house like the swallow’s nest to the cornice—now the cornice itself began to totter—there were already people to be found who would pull down the nest.
One day, just before harvest, Venik, seated on the hillside, began to reckon how long the hollow tree and the hillside would be still a portion of his world. The wheat already pricked to maturity, it was but a short time to harvest.
Krista was at work in the house when her peasant mistress stepped up to her, tore her work out of her hands, trampled it on the ground, and screamed, “Why, hast thou no hands thou awkward slut?”
Krista stood before her in amazement; and the peasant woman continued, “Perhaps you expect me to pick it up from the ground for you.”
To this Krista replied, “Kind mistress, I cannot do it any better, and if you will not shew me how to do it, I shall not be able to work for you.”
“Then be so good as to be off to-day better than to-morrow. Come, come, none of thy threats to me. Tie up your rags at once, and dont let me see you here by nightfall.”
