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As the man spoke he glanced across the rivulet. On the opposite bank two men were staggering along, and drunkenly bawling the tipsy refrain:

“In the du-u-uok let me die,
In the au-autumn time!”

“Aye, long is it since I received a blow,” the old man continued, scanning the two revellers from under his hand. “Twenty years it must be since last I did so. And now the blow was struck for nothing, for no real fault.. You see, I have been allowed no nails for the doing of the work, and have been obliged to make use of wooden clamps for most of it, while battens also have not been forthcoming; and, this being so, it was through no remissness of mine that the work could not be finished by sunset tonight. I suspect, too, that, to eke out its wages, that rabble has been thieving, with the eldest leading the rest. And that, again, is not a thing for which I can be held responsible. True, this is a Government job, and some of those fellows are young, and young, hungry fellows such as they will (may they be forgiven!) steal, since everyone hankers to get something in return for a very little. But, once more, how is that my fault? Yes, that rabble must be a regular set of rascals! Just now they deprived my eldest son of a saw, of a brand-new saw; and thereafter they spilt my blood, the blood of a greybeard!”

Here his small, grey face contracted into wrinkles, and, closing his eyes, he sobbed a dry, grating sob.

Silantiev fidgeted–then sighed. Presently the old man looked at him, blew his nose, wiped his hand upon his trousers, and said quietly:

“Somewhere, I think, I have seen you before.”

“That is so. You saw me one evening when I visited your settlement for the mending of a thresher.”

“Yes, yes. That is where I DID see you. It was you, was it not? Well, do you still disagree with me? “

To which the old man added with a nod and a smile:

“See how well I remember your words! You are, I imagine, still of the same opinion?”

“How should I not be?” responded Silantiev dourly.

“Ah, well! Ah, well!”

And the old man stretched his hands over the fire once more, discoloured hands the thumbs of which were curiously bent outwards and splayed, and, seemingly, unable to move in harmony with the fingers.

The ex-soldier shouted across the river:

“The land here is easy to work, and makes the people lazy. Who would care to live in such a region? Who would care to come to it? Much rather would I go and earn a living on difficult land.”

The old man paid no heed, but said to Silantiev–said to him with an austere, derisive smile:

“Do you STILL think it necessary to struggle against what has been ordained of God? Do you STILL think that long-suffering is bad, and resistance good? Young man, your soul is weak indeed: and remember that it is only the soul that can overcome Satan.”

In response Silantiev rose to his feet, shook his fist at the old man, and shouted in a rough, angry voice, a voice that was not his own:

“All that I have heard before, and from others besides yourself. The truth is that I hold all you father-confessors in abhorrence. “Moreover,” (this last was added with a violent oath) “it is not Satan that needs to be resisted, but such devil’s ravens, such devil’s vampires, as YOU.”

Which said, he kicked a stone away from the fire, thrust his hands into his pockets, and turned slowly on his heel, with his elbows pressed close to his sides. Nevertheless the old man, still smiling, said to me in an undertone:

“He is proud, but that will not last for long.”

“Why not?”

“Because I know in advance that–“

Breaking off short, he turned his head upon his shoulder, and sat listening to some shouting that was going on across the river. Everyone in that quarter was drunk, and, in particular, someone could be heard bawling in a tone of challenge: