rs, push up the window and begin groping about. She
used to sleep just there on a bench. Once I woke her up and she nearly
called out. She hadn't recognized me. "Who is there?" she said, and I
could not answer. Her mother was even beginning to stir, but I took off
my cap and shoved it over her mouth; and she at once knew it by a seam
in it, and ran out to me. I used not to want anything then. She'd bring
along clotted cream and grapes and everything,' added Eroshka (who
always explained things practically), 'and she wasn't the only one. It
was a life!'

'And what now?'

'Now we'll follow the dog, get a pheasant to settle on a tree, and then
you may fire.'

'Would you have made up to Maryanka?'

'Attend to the dogs. I'll tell you tonight,' said the old man, pointing
to his favourite dog, Lyam.

After a pause they continued talking, while they went about a hundred
paces. Then the old man stopped again and pointed to a twig that lay
across the path.

'What do you think of that?' he said. 'You think it's nothing? It's bad
that this stick is lying so.'

'Why is it bad?'

He smiled.

'Ah, you don't know anything. Just listen to me. When a stick lies like
that don't you step across it, but go round it or throw it off the path
this way, and say "Father and Son and Holy Ghost," and then go on with
God's blessing. Nothing will happen to you. That's what the old men
used to teach me.'

'Come, what rubbish!' said Olenin. 'You'd better tell me more about
Maryanka. Does she carry on with Lukashka?'

'Hush ... be quiet now!' the old man again interrupted in a whisper:
'just listen, we'll go round through the forest.'

And the old man, stepping quietly in his soft shoes, led the way by a
narrow path leading into the dense, wild, overgrown forest. Now and
again with a frown he turned to look at Olenin, who rustled and
clattered with his heavy boots and, carrying his gun carelessly,
several times caught the twigs of trees that grew across the path.

'Don't make a noise. Step softly, soldier!' the old man whispered
angrily.

There was a feeling in the air that the sun had risen. The mist was
dissolving but it still enveloped the tops of the trees. The forest
looked terribly high. At every step the aspect changed: what had
appeared like a tree proved to be a bush, and a reed looked like a tree.

Chapter XIX

The mist had partly lifted, showing the wet reed thatches, and was now
turning into dew that moistened