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"Not at all," shouted the Warden, "I follow the old fashion. Of

great things great men should think; for them there is an

Emperor, and there will be a King, a Senate, and Deputies. Such

things, my boy, are done in Cracow or in Warsaw, not here among

us, in the hamlet of Dobrzyn. Acts of confederation are not

written on a chimney with chalk, nor on a river barge, but on

parchment; it is not for us to write such acts. Poland has the

secretaries of the Kingdom and of Lithuania; such was the ancient

custom: my business is to whittle with my penknife."

"To sprinkle with my brush," added Sprinkler.

"And to bore with my awl," cried Bartek the Awl, drawing his

sword.

"I summon you all to witness," concluded the Warden; "did not

Robak tell you, that before you receive Napoleon into your house

you should sweep out the dirt? You all heard it, but do you

understand? Who is the dirt of the district? Who traitorously

killed the best of Poles; who robbed and plundered him? Who? Must

I tell you?"