Soon the entire household were baling in the house and farm-buildings; the fire was burning brightly, and the sun peeped out from behind the clouds.

On the other bank of the river the Germans were at work. Barelegged, and armed with long poles, they waded carefully through the flooded fields towards the river to catch the drifting logs.

Stasiek was calming down; he was not tingling all over now. From time to time he still fancied he heard the thunder, and strained his ears, but it was only the noise of the others baling with wooden grain measures. There was much commotion in the pa.s.sage where Jendrek pushed Magda about instead of baling.

'Steady there,' cried his mother, 'when I get hold of something hard I'll beat you black and blue!'

But Jendrek laughed, for he could tell by a shade in her voice that she was no longer cross.

Courage returned to Stasiek's heart. Supposing he were to peep out into the yard... would there still be a terrible black cloud? Why not try?

He put his head out of the back door and saw the blue sky flecked with little white clouds hurrying eastwards. The c.o.c.k was flapping his wings and crowing, heavy drops were sparkling on the bushes, golden streaks of sunlight penetrated into the pa.s.sage, and bright reflections from the surface of the waters beckoned to him.

He flew out joyfully through the pools of water, delighting in the rainbow-coloured sheaves that were spurting from under his feet; he stood on a plank and punted himself along with a stick, pretending that he was sailing in deep water.

'Come, Jendrek!' he called.

'Stop here and go on baling,' called out Slimakowa.

The Germans were still busy landing wood; whenever they got hold of a specially large piece they shouted 'Hurrah!' Suddenly some big logs came floating down, and this raised their enthusiasm to such a pitch that they started singing the 'Wacht am Rhein'. For the first time in his life Stasiek, who was so sensitive to music, heard a men's chorus sung in parts. It seemed to melt into one with the bright sun; both intoxicated him; he forgot where he was and what he was doing, he stood petrified. Waves seemed to be floating towards him from the river, embracing and caressing him with invisible arms, drawing him irresistibly. He wanted to turn towards the house or call Jendrek, but he could only move forward, slowly, as in a dream, then faster...faster; he ran, and disappeared down the hill.

The men were singing the third verse of the 'Wacht am Rhein', when they suddenly stopped and shouted:

'Help...help!'

Slimak and Maciek had stopped in their work to listen to the singing; the sudden cries surprised them, but it was the labourer who was seized with apprehension.

'Run, gospodarz,' he said; 'something's up.'

'Eh! something they have taken into their heads!'

'Help!' the cry rose again.

'Never mind, run, gospodarz,' the man urged; 'I can't keep up with you, and something....'

Slimak ran towards the river, and Maciek painfully dragged himself after him. Jendrek overtook him.

'What's up? Where is Stasiek?'

Maciek stopped and heard a powerful voice calling out:

'That's the way you look after your children, Polish beasts!'

Then Slimak appeared on the hill, holding Stasiek in his arms. The boy's head was resting on his shoulder, his right arm hung limply.

Dirty water was flowing from them both. Slimak's lips were livid, his eyes wide open. Jendrek ran towards him, slipped on the boggy hillside, scrambled up and shouted in terror: 'Daddy...Stasiek...what....'

'He's drowned!'

'You are mad,' cried the boy; 'he's sitting on your arm!'

He pulled Stasiek by the shirt, and the boy's head fell over his father's shoulder.

'You see!' whispered Slimak.

'But he was in the backyard a minute ago.'

Slimak did not answer, he supported Stasiek's head and stumbled forward.

Slimakowa was standing in the pa.s.sage, shading her eyes and waiting.

'Well, what has he been up to now?... What's this? Has it fallen on Stasiek again? Curse those Swabians and their singing!'

She went up to the boy and, taking his hand, said in a trembling voice:

'Never mind, Stasiek, don't roll your eyes like that, never mind! Come to your senses, I won't scold you. Magda, fetch some water.'

'He has had more than enough water,' murmured Slimak.

The woman started back.

'What's the matter with him? Why is he so wet?'

'I have taken him out of the pool by the river.'

'That little pool?'

'The water was only up to my waist, but it did for him.'

'Then why don't you turn him upside down? Maciek, take him by the feet...oh, you clumsy fellows!'

The labourer did not stir. She seized the boy herself by the legs.

Stasiek struck the ground heavily with his hands; a little blood ran from his nose.

Maciek took the child from her and carried him into the cottage, where he laid him down on the bench. They all followed him except Magda, who ran aimlessly round the yard and then, with outstretched arms, on to the highroad, crying: 'Help...help, if you believe in G.o.d!' She returned to the cottage, but dared not go in, crouched on the threshold with her head on her knees, groaning: 'Help...if you believe in G.o.d.'

Slimak dashed into the alcove, put on his sukmana and ran out, he did not know whither; he felt he must run somewhere.

A voice seemed to cry to him: 'Father...father...if you had put up a fence, your child would not have been drowned!'

And the man answered: 'It is not my fault; the Germans bewitched him with their singing.'

A cart was heard rattling on the highroad and stopped in front of the cottage. The schoolmaster got out, bareheaded and with his rod in his hand. 'How is the boy?' he called out, but did not wait for an answer and limped into the cottage.

Stasiek was lying on the bench, his mother was supporting his head on her knees and whispering to herself: 'He's coming to, he's a little warmer.'

The schoolmaster nudged Maciek: 'How is he?'

'What do I know? She says he's better, but the boy doesn't move, no, he doesn't move.'