rence to
the wretched inns of that suburb of the wharves. The "best room" had a
citified air, with its white curtains, leaf plants, pretty china tea
service, and photographs of the family on the wall. These last seemed to
us in keeping with the sewing-machine which we had seen a peasant woman
operating in a shop of the little posting-town inland. They denoted
progress, since many peasants cherish religious scruples or
superstitions about having their portraits taken in any form.

The athletic sons, clad only in shirts and trousers of sprigged print,
with fine chestnut hair, which compensated for their bare feet, vacated
the room for our use. They and the house were as clean as possible.
Outside, near the entrance door, hung the family washstand, a
double-spouted teapot of bronze suspended by chains. But it was plain
that they did not pin their faith wholly to it, and that they took the
weekly steam bath which is customary with the peasants. Not everything
was citified in the matter of sanitary arrangements. But these people
seemed to thrive, as our ancestors all did, and probably regarded us as
over-particular.

To fill in the interval of waiting, we made an excursion to the heart of
the town, and visited the pretty public garden overhanging the river,
and noteworthy for its superb dahlias. As we observed the types of young
people who were strolling there, we recognized them, with slight
alterations only, which the lapse of time explained, from the types
which we had seen on the stage in Ostrovsky's famous play "The
Thunderstorm." The scene of that play is laid on the banks of the Volga,
in just such a garden; why should it not have been on this spot?

All peasant _izbui_ are so bewilderingly alike that we found our special
cottage again with some difficulty, by the light of the young moon. By
this time "the oldest inhabitant" had hazarded a guess as to the line
whose steamer would arrive first. Accordingly, we gathered up our small
luggage and our Tchuvash costume, and fairly rolled down the steep,
pathless declivity of slippery turf, groping our way to the right wharf.
How the luggage cart got down was a puzzle. Here we ordered in the
_samovar_, and feasted until far into the night on the country dainties
which we had brought with us, supplemented by one of the first
watermelons from Astrakhan, which we had purchased from a belated dealer
in the deserted town market. The boat was late, as a matter of course;
but we