Sometimes they stopped to inquire how this and that neighbor was, what had happened at the village, and what at the mill.

In the winter, one rarely met any of the Zernov people going to the town church, for the path on the mountain side was steep and dangerous. They went then to Studnic or to Red Hura, to either of which places the path was more passable. In the summer one did not mind the bad road; this was the case especially with the young people. On Sunday morning, the path across the meadows to the town was never empty. Here, one could see an old lady in a fur lined cloak, with a kerchief upon her head, and beside her an old man leaning upon his staff; one could see that he was old, for his hair was fastened down with a comb, a custom kept up by very old men. There, one could see women in white dove-caps, and men with fleece-lined jackets, hurrying across the foot bridge to the valley to overtake the others. From the hill above could be seen maidens frolicking about like fawns, and behind them young men like deer. Here, a white, puffed sleeve glances between the trees, then the bushes catch a floating streamer from the shoulder of some maiden, and then again one sees the bright colors of the embroidered jacket of some youth, till at last the whole happy company finds itself on the green plain below.

Coming home, Grandmother changed her clothes and then hurried about the house to see if anything had been neglected during her absence. After dinner, she lay down to rest a few moments. She usually fell asleep, and when she awoke she wondered how it happened that her eyes closed ere she was aware of it.

In the afternoon she usually took the children to the mill, and that half day seemed to them a great holiday. The miller had a daughter of the same age as Barunka; her name was Mary, but she was always called Manchinka. She was a good, playful child.

In front of the mill, between two lindens, was a statue of St. John of Nepomuk, and there the miller’s wife, Manchinka, and the Zerno women usually sat on Sunday afternoon. The miller generally stood before them, telling them some news while he turned his snuff box in his fingers. As soon as Grandmother and the children were seen coming, Manchinka ran to meet them, and the miller slowly followed with the women. The miller’s wife, however, turned to the house to get something ready for those dear little ones, “so that they will behave,” as she said. Before they reached the house, a table was already prepared for them either under the windows in the orchard or on the little island. They had a generous supply of buns and honey, bread and butter, and cream. In the summer the miller generally brought a basket of fruit, but in the winter they had dried apples and prunes. Coffee and similar beverages were not yet in common use; in the whole neighborhood only the Prosheks drank coffee.

“How good of you to come to see us,” said the miller’s wife, offering a chair to Grandmother. “Why, if you did not come it would not seem like Sunday; and now accept of the bounty that God has given.”

Grandmother, who ate but little herself, begged her hostess not to trouble herself so much, at which the good lady only laughed. “You are old, and it is no wonder you eat so little; but children — oh, heavens! they have stomachs like ducks. Just look at our Manchinka! I never knew the time when she was not hungry.” The children’s smiling faces confessed that she was right.

When the children got another bun apiece they hastened behind the barn, for when they were there, no one worried about them. There they played ball, horses, colors, and similar games. The same company waited for them each Sunday,— six children, of different sizes, like the pipes of an organ. They were the children of the organ grinder from the flax mill. When he moved there with his family, the inn keeper built them a cottage having one living room and a kitchen. The father went about with his hand organ, and the mother after finishing her own work went among the neighbors, doing chores for a little food. They had nothing in the world but those six “pandores”— as the miller called the organ grinder’s children — and some music. For all that, no great want was seen in the family.