his body to the ground and cried, “If thou art my son Joseph, oh! I pray thee only do not drive me away for this one day. For the sake of my aged wife, I implore thee, for the sake of thy mother, who bore thee, and whose only fault was that she loved thee all too well, and now is sick unto death. I promise that I will depart again as soon as she is dead if I survive her death.”
And more to the same effect. It was Vena who approached him and said, “I welcome you, pantata, to your own farmstead.”
Old Loyka drew himself up, looked round about him and listened. Afterwards his eyes rested on Vena. “Thou art Vena,” he said, “I know thee. What has brought thee here? Thou went wandering from here.”
“Now I am here again, pantata, and we are expecting you,” said Vena.
“Expecting me? And who are those yonder playing.”
“The harpers, fiddlers, and singers. Of course, you know them all,” said Vena.
“And what do they want here?”
“They are expecting you.”
“Expecting me! Well, well, well, well.”
Then he took Vena by the hand and said, “Thou wise man, do not trot me out to make a fool of me, and tell me, is it safe to cross the courtyard?”
