Sorrow fell upon our turtle doves; and a rumour grew rife in the village that a certain Pole, all embroidered with gold, with moustaches, sabre, spurs, and pockets jingling like the bells of the bag with which our sacristan Taras goes through the church every day, had begun to frequent Korzh's house.

Now, it is well known why a father has visitors when there is a black-browed daughter about.

So, one day, Pidorka burst into tears, and caught the hand of her brother Ivas.

"Ivas, my dear! Ivas, my love! fly to Peter, my child of gold, like an arrow from a bow.

Tell him all: I would have loved his brown eyes, I would have kissed his fair face, but my fate decrees otherwise.