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 calling from the window to somebody in the farmyard. You must know they have an arrant thief at Rades̓ín—a man of the name of Jiskra—quite an old chap; but not even a shingle on the roof is safe from him. It was about five o’clock in the morning. Jiskra was prowling about to provide fuel for himself for the winter. He crept into the priest’s yard, where there was very good dry wood piled up, and began throwing the heavy logs over the high wall. Heavens looked at him for a while from the window, and then shouted down to him—because Jiskra is rather deaf now—‘Jiskra, I say–Jiskra! wait a minute; I’ll come down and open the gate for you. You’ll hurt yourself, throwing the heavy logs in that manner.’ Jiskra looked round, jumped upon the pile of wood, from that upon the wall, and vanished.

“After breakfast we went for a walk to the fields, and came a little way beyond Rades̓ín to a potato-field. There we saw a woman kneeling with her back to us, pulling the potatoes out of the ground and putting them into her lap.

“‘Oh, you wicked woman!’ thundered Cvok at her; you are stealing potatoes! Whose field is this?’

“‘I beg your pardon humbly, very reverend father. It is your field.’

“‘Oh, that’s all right. Take up your potatoes and go away with yourself. Just think if it had been somebody else’s field!’

“In the middle of the potato-field there was a patch of poppies growing luxuriantly, the blossoms clustering thickly one upon another, so that it made one’s heart glad to look at them.

“‘Now, just look there,’ said Heavens, pointing to them with a smile. ‘What those poppies are among the