his eyes for a moment and closed them again immediately. He fell asleep.
After so many years he again slept under his own roof, and slept in the farmhouse.
It was already pretty late on the following day when he awoke; and when he awoke, he looked fixedly at the ceiling as if he was trying to call to mind how it used to look. Very much that had occurred seemed to him like a dream. As yet, he could hardly manage to assure himself that he was not still asleep.
And when his eyes ranged from the ceiling and sought the objects that were nearest to him, here stood, here sat in the apartment, his wife, Frank, and Bartos. Loyka greeted them with a prolonged stare, but did not utter a word. He only gazed at them.
And when his eyes wandered to the door he saw several of the servants standing there, one of whom said, “We await your order, pantata, where we are to go and plough.”
Old Loyka again turned his eyes towards his wife, his son, and Bartos, and said, “Tell me nothing: if it is a dream, let me dream on.” And to the servants he said, “Go and plough beyond the meadow; I will come and see how much you have worked.”
When the servants had gone, he again looked towards his son and said, “And Joseph allows you to be here? Does he allow me to be here also?”
“You are at home, papa,” said Frank, “and we will never leave it again.”
“At home? Prithee, tell me nothing whatever until afterwards”, and he rubbed his forehead. After a while he said to his wife, “They told me you were sick unto death.”
“Now she is well again”, said Bartos.
When Loyka got upon his feet he inquired, “May I venture to walk about the room?”
“About the room, the court-yard, in the fields, where you please”, answered Frank.
Loyka smiled and walked about the room, and said as he did so, “It is all a very well concocted plan, but I am already old. Why should I not allow myself to take a few steps in a room which was once my own?”
“It is yours, so long as you are pleased to stay in it”, said Bartos.
“Good lad, I must trust you, although I do not know yet
