“Jendzian,” called Skshetuski, “is that you, or is it your ghost?”
The young fellow, frightened by the sudden call, dropped the breastplate on the floor with a clatter, spread his arms, and said: “Oh, for God’s sake! why do you scream, my master, that I am like a ghost? I am alive and well!”
“And you have come back?”
“But have you sent me off?”
“Come here to me; let me embrace you.”
The faithful youth fell upon the floor, and caught Skshetuski by the knees. Skshetuski kissed him on the forehead with joy, and repeated: “You are alive, you are alive!”
“Oh, my master, I cannot speak from joy that I see you again in health! You shouted so that I let the breastplate fall. The straps have shrunk up,--it is clear that you have had no one. Praise be to thee, O God! Oh, my dear master!”
“Whe
