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 Bára, alone, remained unmoved. It worried her far more that the community had dismissed her father, for she had already heard what had happened to him. When the priest told her where she was to spend the succeeding night, she listened to all quietly, then kissed his hand, saying, “As far as that’s concerned, it makes little difference if I sleep in the charnelhouse or some other place. I can sleep even on a stone. But it’s harder for father. What will become of him, now that they’ve taken his position away from him? Father can’t live without his flocks and herds, for he’s been used to them all his life. He will die! Arrange it somehow, reverend sir!”

Everyone marvelled at Bára’s unsubdued spirit and refused to believe otherwise than that, after all, it was some sort of supernatural power that made Bára different from other people.

“Never mind, her crest will fall by night,” many of them thought. But they were mistaken. Bára was dejected only until she learned that the peasants had returned to Jacob his work as public herdsman, which the priest had arranged for by giving him his own herd to pasture.

After dinner, when the priest was napping and Miss Pepinka was also dozing a little, Elška stole out from the room and ran down to Bára. Her eyes were red with weeping and she was shaking with fear. Violently she threw her arms around Bára’s neck and fell to sobbing anew.