er was not of the
chicken-hearted brigade--that I couldn't say--but he felt uneasy;
there was no regular road through the wood, nothing went that way
but hay and timber, and there was no cause for anyone to be galloping
there, particularly in working hours. One wouldn't be galloping
after any good.

"It seems as though they are after someone," said father to Anyutka,
"they are galloping so furiously. I ought to have kept quiet in the
tavern, a plague on my tongue. Oy, little daughter, my heart misgives
me, there is something wrong!"

He did not spend long in hesitation about his dangerous position,
and he said to my sister Anyutka:

"Things don't look very bright, they really are in pursuit. Anyway,
Anyutka dear, you take the money, put it away in your skirts, and
go and hide behind a bush. If by ill-luck they attack me, you run
back to mother, and give her the money. Let her take it to the
village elder. Only mind you don't let anyone see you; keep to the
wood and by the creek, that no one may see you. Run your best and
call on the merciful God. Christ be with you!"

Father thrust the parcel of notes on Anyutka, and she looked out
the thickest of the bushes and hid herself. Soon after, three men
on horseback galloped up to father. One a stalwart, big-jawed fellow,
in a crimson shirt and high boots, and the other two, ragged, shabby
fellows, navvies from the line. As my father feared, so it really
turned out, sir. The one in the crimson shirt, the sturdy, strong
fellow, a man above the ordinary, left his horse, and all three
made for my father.

"Halt you, so-and-so! Where's the money!"

"What money? Go to the devil!"

"Oh, the money you are taking the master for the rent. Hand it over,
you bald devil, or we will throttle you, and you'll die in your
sins."

And they began to practise their villainy on father, and, instead
of beseeching them, weeping, or anything of the sort, father got
angry and began to reprove them with the greatest severity.

"What are you pestering me for?" said he. "You are a dirty lot.
There is no fear of God in you, plague take you! It's not money you
want, but a beating, to make your backs smart for three years after.
Be off, blockheads, or I shall defend myself. I have a revolver
that takes six bullets, it's in my bosom!"

But his words did not deter the robbers, and they began beating him
with anything they could lay their hands on.

They looked through everything in the cart,