irls happens to laugh outright, the matrons
who are standing near turn round and scowl; and one of them, stepping
forward, orders the offender, in a tone of authority, to go home at once
if she cannot behave herself. Crestfallen, the culprit retires, and the
youth who is the cause of the merriment makes the incident the subject
of a new joke. Meanwhile the deliberations have begun. The majority of
the members are chatting together, or looking at a little group composed
of three peasants and a woman, who are standing a little apart from the
others. Here alone the matter in hand is being really discussed. The
woman is explaining, with tears in her eyes, and with a vast amount of
useless repetition, that her "old man," who is Elder for the time being,
is very ill, and cannot fulfil his duties.

"But he has not yet served a year, and he'll get better," remarks one
peasant, evidently the youngest of the little group.

"Who knows?" replies the woman, sobbing. "It is the will of God, but
I don't believe that he'll ever put his foot to the ground again. The
Feldsher has been four times to see him, and the doctor himself came
once, and said that he must be brought to the hospital."

"And why has he not been taken there?"

"How could he be taken? Who is to carry him? Do you think he's a baby?
The hospital is forty versts off. If you put him in a cart he would die
before he had gone a verst. And then, who knows what they do with people
in the hospital?" This last question contained probably the true reason
why the doctor's orders had been disobeyed.

"Very well, that's enough; hold your tongue," says the grey-beard of
the little group to the woman; and then, turning to the other peasants,
remarks, "There is nothing to be done. The Stanovoi [officer of rural
police] will be here one of these days, and will make a row again if we
don't elect a new Elder. Whom shall we choose?"

As soon as this question is asked several peasants look down to the
ground, or try in some other way to avoid attracting attention, lest
their names should be suggested. When the silence has continued a minute
or two, the greybeard says, "There is Alexei Ivanof; he has not served
yet!"

"Yes, yes, Alexei Ivanof!" shout half-a-dozen voices, belonging probably
to peasants who fear they may be elected.

Alexei protests in the strongest terms. He cannot say that he is ill,
because his big ruddy face would give him the lie direct, but he finds
half-a-doze