window on May-day morning. It was certainly the best of all; for only such has the honour of being taken down by the boys, and of being carried round from house to house—and for the last two years this garland had been uncle’s giving, and had hung before Kubista’s dwelling.
Of course Betuska returned the compliment. As soon as Great Night [Easter] drew near she had already chosen her best egg, and no one on the day of the festival had so finely and delicately painted an egg as Uncle John. There was a tiny heart, and round it tiny leaves and flowers, so that Uncle John was sorry to have to crack such a beautiful egg, which afforded great pleasure to Betuska.
Perhaps this was the reason she so loved her poultry, for she congratulated herself all the year on having afforded Uncle John so much pleasure.
The parents thwarted not their two children, who could thus meet openly, for they did so with their parents’ consent and knowledge.
Old Kubista and our grandfather had been comrades since their school-days. They also served together during the French invasion, and together bore all the hardships which that invasion brought upon the farmers. Moreover, one without the other would never undertake anything that they had not previously discussed together, and nothing pleased them more than to see their mutual predilection inherited by their children, and develop in these into true love.
Grandmother doted above measure on Uncle John, for he was the youngest son—who frequently gets a little spoiled. She it was who put into his hand all he had to give to Betuska, and if she had saved a few coppers in her household management she knew perfectly who would be pleased to have them.
But fortune began all at once to become overcast, so that perhaps it was nevermore destined to shine out clear and bright.
Kubista and grandfather were invited to the chase by the nobles and gentry—and they looked upon this as a special mark of distinction, for in those days even farmers scarcely knew the smell of powder, and if the father had not been a poacher the son would scarcely know how to load a gun, and where to pull the trigger.
But grandfather and Kubista were renowned all through the neighbourhood as good shots—granted, their hands shook slightly now when they aimed with their flint-locks they never failed
