Turkish infidels to drop all round him like over-ripe plums. "Why not this one? But this is a grand carpet indeed. May my mother be buried in a nameless grave if it is not worth double the price! The Pan Starosto bought one just like it last year, and there are only these two in the whole country."
The poor curé was sadly tempted at the prospect of having a carpet just like the Pan Starosto, and he admired the battle-piece most deeply; but even his simple mind pointed out some objections. "Yes, to be sure, it is very handsome," he said; "but I fear it would hardly do for the church, would it? You see, it is not very — very religious-looking. I fear we shall have to content ourselves with something quieter in pattern — flowers or fruit, perhaps."
"Flowers!" The Jew had a perfect garden to recommend; roses and lilies, daisies and tulips, besides many other flowers not to be found in any other garden.
After some debating, a good-sized carpet, with tasteful garlands of roses and lilies, was selected as the most suitable in every way. These particular roses were lilac, and the lilies, contrary to the habits of their species, were alternately blue and scarlet, — but this was of course a great improvement on nature.
The Jew had at last consented to part with this work of art for the sum of eighty florins.
"But I am not sure whether we really want a carpet," said the priest, beginning to tremble at the notion that the great decision must now soon be made. "I have not had enough time to think. Perhaps the gates would be better, after all. Ah, if only we could buy both carpet and gate!" Here he lost himself in a gentle reverie; and Filip stared down at the lilac roses with unseeing eyes, and had twice to be requested by the gabbling Hebrew to remove his muddy boot from off a particularly handsome scarlet lily, before he seemed to wake up with a start.
"Pan Proboszcz," he said, clearing his throat, "I can tell you how to buy both carpet and gate, if you like."
"What do you mean?" said the curé. "The carpet costs eighty florins, and the gate a hundred and sixty, — that makes two hundred and forty; and I cannot spend more than one hundred and fifty. There are so many poor in the parish, and I cannot touch the other half."
"The carpet costs eighty, I know," said Filip; "and I think I could make you a gate as good as that fellow's one for seventy florins, if you are not in a hurry, and can let me do it at leisure."
"You really could, Filip?" said the old man wonderingly, — "a gate like that one?"
"A gate like that one," repeated Filip.
"And St. Peter?" put in the priest anxiously. "Do you think you could make a St. Peter like that one?"
"I think I could," said Filip.
"And the key?"
Filip expressed his conviction that he could manage to hit off the great apostle, key and all, and everything, for seventy florins. So the matter was satisfactorily arranged. The carpet with the lilac roses and scarlet lilies was carefully packed up and put in the cart, in the place lately occupied by the squeaking pig, which had already passed into other hands, and was preparing to undergo the grand transformation from living flesh to passive hams and sausages.
CHAPTER VII.
THE BLESSING OF THE FRUITS.
"She stood breast-high amid the corn,
Clasped by the golden light of morn,
Like the sweetheart of the sun,
Who many a glowing kiss had won."
The 15th of August, which is the Feast of the Assumption, is always a great day in Poland, and in the year of which I am writing it was kept with unusual pomp at the village of Rudniki.
Firstly, because ever since that luckless autumn when the place had been ravaged by cholera, the population of Rudniki had been very punctilious about taking their fruits to be blessed before tasting them; and as on this particular Assumption day the weather was spotlessly beautiful, it rendered the fulfilment of this religious duty all the easier.
Secondly, because it had been rumored far and wide in the neighborhood that the new carpet which was the gift of the future Princess Rascalinska was then to be displayed for the first time.
A festive stir pervaded the whole country from daybreak; the very flowers seemed anxious to take part in the festivities, for all the buds which had been closed overnight now opened at early dawn. A few coy, tardy roses which the zephyr and the sunbeam had as yet wooed unsuccessfully, now unfolded their blushing charms; hundreds of audacious poppies discarded their green sheaths in indecent haste, eager to present their
