such serious crimes, the convicted man announced that he accepted the penalty and was ready to suffer it.
Those ten months sped as if in winged flight. Old Nešněra, returning one day to his native village, was nearly petrified to find a new building in the place where his little home used to stand.
The old man, bent by grief and suffering, straightened up fiercely at the unexpected sight.
“Oh, is that you, Nešněra? Welcome home,” sounded a hearty voice. “We didn’t expect you till day after to-morrow.”
Nešněra silently extended his hand to Halama and with the other pointed to the building.
“It makes your eyes bulge, doesn’t it? That’s the new school—a German one! You’ll see the inscription. Schlosser made haste speeded up the building of it! In a few days it’s to be consecrated. And say, old comrade! There’ll be children in plenty there over half of the village. The factory hands and many of the others in some way employed by our German ‘gentlemen’ got a sort of insight that it was vain to resist!”
“And that’s what my son did for you people! You must all curse him for it!”
“Well, I haven’t yet heard anyone praise him.”
“And what about my reserved portion and cottage? Have they torn that down, too?” Nešněra asked in menacing tones.
“No, they didn’t do that. Your son had it fixed up.
