“And I…where shall I go now? What will I do?”

“It’s all right.…May the Lor…” He broke off in the middle of the word, and was silent.

Then he began to make a rattling sound…he stretched out his legs…one of them jerked sideways.

Jig-Leg looked at him without blinking. Minutes passed that were as long as hours.

Then Hopeful lifted his head, but at once it fell helplessly back onto the ground.

“What is it, brother?” Jig-Leg bent over him. But he did not answer, he lay quiet and motionless.

For a while Jig-Leg sat at his comrade’s side. Then he rose, took off his cap, crossed himself, and slowly went on his way along the ravine. His face was drawn, his eyebrows and mustaches bristled, and he strode firmly as though he were striking the earth with his feet, as though he were trying to hurt it.

It was already daybreak. The sky was gray and harsh; a sullen silence reigned in the ravine; only the stream was talking monotonously and tediously.

But suddenly there was a noise—a clump of earth must have rolled down to the bottom of the ravine. A rook awoke, and with a cry of alarm, flew off. Then a titmouse piped. In the damp chill air of the ravine sounds did not last long; they arose and immediately died away.…

1898.