Only one of the peasants bared his head--an old man, white-haired and of commanding stature, who lifted a proud face to the newcomer. He had pulled up by the carriage door, and his clear, undaunted eyes examined the features of the steward. That was Stephen Woronka, the village judge. "Newly-appointed mandatar," he said, "you are sent by our lord; therefore we greet you. You come from afar, and we are not known to you; therefore, I say, we men of Zulawce do our duty by the Count, expecting him to do the same by us. Neither more nor less! We greet you."
Mr. Hajek understood the import, for a Slavonic dialect had been the language of his childhood, and on the long journey through Galicia he had had opportunity to pickup some of the country's speech. But, more than the words, it was the spirit which impressed him, and he framed his answer accordingly. "I shall be just," he said; "neither more nor less! I greet you."
The old judge waved his hat, and "Urrahah!" cried the peasants, the shrill; crisp sound rising from two hundred throats. They discharged their pistols, and once more an exultant "Urrahah!" filled the air. It sounded like a war cry; but peacefully they turned their horses' heads, and, together with the travelling carriage, proceeded to the village inn.
There, on an open space beneath a mighty linden tree, the rest of the people stood waiting--old folk and lads, women and children--all wearing their Sunday best. When the carriage had stopped, and Mr. Hajek, still smiling, had alighted, he was met by the village priest, or pope, with a bow. The Reverend Martin Sustenkowicz was loyally inclined, and anxious to express his feelings in a proper speech, but somehow his intention often was beyond him; and in the present instance, attempting his salutation with unsteady feet, he bowed lower than he meant to, and speech there was none. Hajek took the will for the deed, and turned to an aged woman who offered bread and salt. He affably swallowed a mouthful, and thereupon ordered the innkeeper, Avrumko, in a stage whisper, to tap two casks of his schnaps.
He fully believed thereby to please the people, and was not a little surprised at the judge's deprecating gesture. "With your leave, new mandatar, we decline it," said the latter. "It may be all very well in the lowlands, but not with us. We men of Zulawce do not object to schnaps, but only when we have paid for it ourselves!"