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THE WITCH AND OTHER STORIES
his way； but he is strong in body and bold in spirit； and has no fear of the
pine…trees； nor stones； nor of his solitude； nor of the reverberating echo
which repeats the sound of every footstep that he takes。
The peasants called up a picture of a free life such as they had never
lived； whether they vaguely recalled the images of stories heard long ago
or whether notions of a free life had been handed down to them with their
flesh and blood from far…off free ancestors； God knows！
The first to break the silence was Nikandr Sapozhnikov； who had not
till then let fall a single word。 Whether he envied the tramp's transparent
happiness； or whether he felt in his heart that dreams of happiness were
out of keeping with the grey fog and the dirty brown mud anyway； he
looked sternly at the tramp and said：
〃It's all very well； to be sure； only you won't reach those plenteous
regions； brother。 How could you？ Before you'd gone two hundred miles
you'd give up your soul to God。 Just look what a weakling you are！ Here
you've hardly gone five miles and you can't get your breath。〃
The tramp turned slowly toward Nikandr； and the blissful smile
vanished from his face。 He looked with a scared and guilty air at the
peasant's staid face； apparently remembered something； and bent his head。
A silence followed again。 。 。 。 All three were pondering。 The peasants were
racking their brains in the effort to grasp in their imagination what can be
grasped by none but God that is； the vast expanse dividing them from
the land of freedom。 Into the tramp's mind thronged clear and distinct
pictures more terrible than that expanse。 Before him rose vividly the
picture of the long legal delays and procrastinations； the temporary and
permanent prisons； the convict boats； the wearisome stoppages on the way；
the frozen winters； illnesses； deaths of companions。 。 。 。
The tramp blinked guiltily； wiped the tiny drops of sweat from his
forehead with his sleeve； drew a deep breath as though he had just leapt
out of a very hot bath； then wiped his forehead with the other sleeve and
looked round fearfully。
〃That's true； you won't get there！〃 Ptaha agreed。 〃You are not much of
a walker！ Look at you nothing but skin and bone！ You'll die； brother！〃
〃Of course he'll die！ What could he do？〃 said Nikandr。 〃He's fit for the
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THE WITCH AND OTHER STORIES
hospital now。 。 。 。 For sure！〃
The man who had forgotten his name looked at the stern； unconcerned
faces of his sinister companions； and without taking off his cap； hurriedly
crossed himself； staring with wide…open eyes。 。 。 。 He trembled； his head
shook； and he began twitching all over； like a caterpillar when it is stepped
upon。 。 。 。
〃Well； it's time to go；〃 said Nikandr； getting up； 〃we've had a rest。〃
A minute later they were stepping along the muddy road。 The tramp
was more bent than ever； and he thrust his hands further up his sleeves。
Ptaha was silent。
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THE WITCH AND OTHER STORIES
THE PIPE
MELITON SHISHKIN； a bailiff from the Dementyev farm； exhausted
by the sultry heat of the fir…wood and covered with spiders' webs and pine…
needles； made his way with his gun to the edge of the wood。 His Damka
a mongrel between a yard dog and a setter an extremely thin bitch heavy
with young； trailed after her master with her wet tail between her legs；
doing all she could to avoid pricking her nose。 It was a dull； overcast
morning。 Big drops dripped from the bracken and from the trees that were
wrapped in a light mist； there was a pungent smell of decay from the
dampness of the wood。
There were birch…trees ahead of him where the wood ended； and
between their stems and branches he could see the misty distance。 Beyond
the birch…trees someone was playing on a shepherd's rustic pipe。 The
player produced no more than five or six notes； dragged them out
languidly with no attempt at forming a tune； and yet there was something
harsh and extremely dreary in the sound of the piping。
As the copse became sparser； and the pines were interspersed with
young birch…trees； Meliton saw a herd。 Hobbled horses； cows； and sheep
were wandering among the bushes and； snapping the dry branches； sniffed
at the herbage of the copse。 A lean old shepherd； bareheaded； in a torn
grey smock； stood leaning against the wet trunk of a birch…tree。 He stared
at the ground； pondering something； and played his pipe； it seemed；
mechanically。
〃Good…day； grandfather！ God help you！〃 Meliton greeted him in a thin；
husky voice which seemed incongruous with his huge stature and big；
fleshy face。 〃How cleverly you are playing your pipe！ Whose herd are you
minding？〃
〃The Artamonovs'；〃 the shepherd answered reluctantly； and he thrust
the pipe into his bosom。
〃So I suppose the wood is the Artamonovs' too？〃 Meliton inquired；
looking about him。 〃Yes； it is the Artamonovs'； only fancy 。 。 。 I had
completely lost myself。 I got my face scratched all over in the thicket。〃
He sat down on the wet earth and began rolling up a bit of newspaper
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THE WITCH AND OTHER STORIES
into a cigarette。
Like his voice； everything about the man was small and out of keeping
with his height； his breadth； and his fleshy face： his smiles； his eyes； his
buttons； his tiny cap； which would hardly keep on his big； closely…cropped
head。 When he talked and smiled there was something womanish； timid；
and meek about his puffy； shaven face and his whole figure。
〃What weather！ God help us！〃 he said； and he turned his head from
side to side。 〃Folk have not carried the oats yet； and the rain seems as
though it had been taken on for good； God bless it。〃
The shepherd looked at the sky； from which a drizzling rain was
falling； at the wood； at the bailif's wet clothes； pondered； and said nothing。
〃The whole summer has been the same；〃 sighed Meliton。 〃A bad
business f