have got rid of her, the bread-wasting vagabond—that little pet of thine. We shan’t have to scrape together cotton gowns for her any longer, nor take care lest her soft hands get callosities upon them.”
To that Venik replied, “For all you say I know why you have driven her forth. It is because my dead father loved us dearer than the cottage. You would gladly be rid of me, too, because all you care about is the cottage. But you won’t succeed in that, I tell you.”
These words enraged Riha’s wife because they were true, and because she saw that Venik began to have an inkling of her own bad intentions. And when at supper she told her goodman what Venik had said, the Day of Judgment was rehearsed in that building. Riha hunted for Venik to teach him how to speak to his aunt in future, and when Venik was not to be found, he said that it should stand over till morning, and that he would give it him with his breakfast.
But he never gave him anything more at breakfast. Venik had already migrated, wallet and all, to the hollow tree; and when Riha brought him his breakfast next day, where then were Venik and Krista?
In the house an alarm was raised. No one knew aught about Venik; none of the servants had an idea what had become of him. And in the village people laughed at Riha and told him that now he would have to pasture the sheep alone.
And so Venik and Krista threw themselves upon the world. Very early, when above the tops of the old oak-wood crept the first rays of dawning, he and she stood prepared for the journey. They stood before the hollow tree as by their sanctuary, as if it were their true home. Thither from the cottage they had fled with light hearts: now that they had to flee from it they felt a load upon their hearts. Here was their church in which they had been both angels and pious listeners. Perhaps that tree had roots even in their hearts. And certainly even the flowerets which grew upon the hill-side had in their hearts both soil and sustenance. Now they felt a load upon their breasts. And they knelt beside that little tomb in which, many a long day since, they had buried the sweetbrier, the willow-wands, and the sweet marjoram, and of which they had made Venik’s mother.
“Venik, thou weepest”, said Krista, and wept also.
“Krista,” said Venik, “if in the world we ever fall sick, we will come here to get well.”
