Everything else has been worn out, it has all gone to rags, changed to tatters.
And at the last stopping place the peasant woman has taken out of her box or from the bottom of some little tub, her best clothes which she has hidden there till then.
The very last.
A ragged fugitive has still something left.
But these well-dressed people have nothing more.
All has gone.
Soon they'll have nothing more to put on.
The farther you go, the more you meet of these
—Peasants in their best clothes.
The people of the villages say
—She's put on her last skirt. Yet you can see what sort of people they were.
And our village folk say, enviously:
