we don't win by a minute, it will be the worse for us."

Fishel can now no longer contain himself, and asks:

"How do you mean, the worse?"

"We shall be done for," says Prokop.

"Done for?"

"Done for."

"How do you mean, done for?" persists Fishel.

"I mean, it will grind us."

"Grind us?"

"Grind us."

Fishel does not understand what "grind us, grind us" may signify, but it
has a sound of finality, of the next world, about it, and Fishel is
bathed in a cold sweat, and again the words come into his head, "And
they sank like lead in the mighty waters."

And Prokop, as though to quiet our Fishel's mind, tells him a comforting
story of how, years ago at this time, the Bug broke through the ice, and
the ferry-boat could not be used, and there came to him another person
to be rowed across, an excise official from Uman, quite a person of
distinction, and offered a large sum; and they had the bad luck to meet
two huge pieces of ice, and he rowed to the right, in between the floes,
intending to slip through upwards, and he made an involuntary side
motion with the boat, and they went flop into the water! Fortunately,
he, Prokop, could swim, but the official came to grief, and the
fare-money, too.

"It was good-by to my fare!" ended Prokop, with a sigh, and Fishel
shuddered, and his tongue dried up, so that he could neither speak nor
utter the slightest sound.

In the very middle of the river, just as they were rowing along quite
smoothly, Prokop suddenly stopped, and looked--and looked--up the
stream; then he laid down the oars, drew a bottle out of his pocket,
tilted it into his mouth, sipped out of it two or three times, put it
back, and explained to Fishel that he had always to take a few sips of
the "bitter drop," otherwise he felt bad when on the water. And he wiped
his mouth, took the oars in hand again, and said, having crossed
himself three times:

"Now for a race!"

A race? With whom? With what? Fishel did not understand, and was afraid
to ask; but again he felt the brush of the Death Angel's wing, for
Prokop had gone down onto his knees, and was rowing with might and main.
Moreover, he said to Fishel, and pointed to the bottom of the boat:

"Rebbe, lie down!"

Fishel understood that he was to lie down, and did not need to be told
twice. For now he had seen a whole host of floes coming down upon them,
a world of ice, and he shut his eyes, flung himself face downwards in
the boat, and lay tremb