pillow behind his back. “There, now you can sit up; and you won’t want to sleep until after dinner, what? I must go to my patients. And you, Annie, sit down now and gossip about something or other. Generally your mouth goes like a wheelbarrow, eh? And if he tries to sleep, call me. I shall know how to deal with him.” In the doorway he turned round and grunted. . . . “But . . . I’m glad about it, see? So be careful!”
Prokop’s eyes wandered to the girl. She sat a short distance away, her hands in her lap, and for the life of her could not think what to talk about. Then she raised her head and opened her lips slightly. One heard that she was saying something, but she was confused, gulped, and lowered her head still more. Her long eyelashes trembled on her cheeks.
“Father is so abrupt,” she said finally. “He’s so used to shouting . . .. to scolding . . .. the patients.” Here, unfortunately, she ran out of material; on the other hand—as if by a happy inspiration—she became conscious of her apron between her fingers, and began to arrange it in all sorts of interesting folds, her eyelashes still trembling.
“What’s that noise?” asked Prokop after a long pause.
She turned her head to the window; she had beautiful light hair and her lips were attractively moist. “It’s the cows,” she said with relief. “There’s a yard there, you see? Father has a horse ahd cart there. . . . His name is Fritz.”
“Whose?”
“The horse. You’ve never been to Tynice, have
