e nothing,
we are sailing we know not whither, we are straying on the river."

"Have inward fire within you, have light within your soul, and you shall
see everything," said the pilgrim, sternly and instructively.

Foma was displeased with these cold words and looked at the pilgrim
askance. The latter sat with drooping head, motionless, as though
petrified in thought and prayer. The beads of his rosary were softly
rustling in his hands.

The pilgrim's attitude gave birth to easy courage in Foma's breast, and
he said:

"Tell me, Father Miron, is it good to live, having full freedom, without
work, without relatives, a wanderer, like yourself?"

Father Miron raised his head and softly burst into the caressing
laughter of a child. All his face, tanned from wind and sunburn,
brightened up with inward joy, was radiant with tranquil joy; he touched
Foma's knee with his hand and said in a sincere tone:

"Cast aside from you all that is worldly, for there is no sweetness
in it. I am telling you the right word--turn away from evil. Do you
remember it is said:

'Blessed is the man that walketh not in the counsel of the ungodly,
nor standeth in the way of sinners.' Turn away, refresh your soul with
solitude and fill yourself with the thought of God. For only by the
thought of Him can man save his soul from profanation."

"That isn't the thing!" said Foma. "I have no need of working out my
salvation. Have I sinned so much? Look at others. What I would like is
to comprehend things."

"And you will comprehend if you turn away from the world. Go forth upon
the free road, on the fields, on the steppes, on the plains, on the
mountains. Go forth and look at the world from afar, from your freedom."

"That's right!" cried Foma. "That's just what I think. One can see
better from the side!"

And Miron, paying no attention to his words, spoke softly, as though of
some great mystery, known only to him, the pilgrim:

"The thick slumbering forests around you will start to rustle in sweet
voices about the wisdom of the Lord; God's little birds will sing before
you of His holy glory, and the grasses of the steppe will burn incense
to the Holy Virgin."

The pilgrim's voice now rose and quivered from excess of emotion, now
sank to a mysterious whisper. He seemed as though grown younger; his
eyes beamed so confidently and clearly, and all his face was radiant
with the happy smile of a man who has found expression for his joy and
was d