I looked with redoubled curiosity at him. From my Yermolaï and others I had often heard stories about the forester Biryuk, whom all the peasants of the surrounding districts feared as they feared fire. According to them there had never been such a master of his business in the world before. 'He won't let you carry off a handful of brushwood; he'll drop upon you like a fall of snow, whatever time it may be, even in the middle of the night, and you needn't think of resisting him--he's strong, and cunning as the devil.... And there's no getting at him anyhow; neither by brandy nor by money; there's no snare he'll walk into. More than once good folks have planned to put him out of the world, but no--it's never come off.' That was how the neighbouring peasants spoke of Biryuk. 'So you're Biryuk,' I repeated; 'I've heard talk of you, brother. They say you show no mercy to anyone.' 'I do my duty,' he answered grimly; 'it's not right to eat the master's bread for nothing.' He took an axe from his girdle and began splitting splinters. 'Have you no wife?' I asked him. 'No,' he answered, with a vigorous sweep of the axe. 'She's dead, I suppose?' 'No ... yes ... she's dead,' he added, and turned away. I was silent; he raised his eyes and looked at me. 'She ran away with a travelling pedlar,' he brought out with a bitter smile. The little girl hung her head; the baby waked up and began crying; the little girl went to the cradle. 'There, give it him,' said Biryuk, thrusting a dirty feeding-bottle into her hand. 'Him, too, she abandoned,' he went on in an undertone, pointing to the baby. He went up to the door, stopped, and turned round. 'A gentleman like you,' he began, 'wouldn't care for our bread, I dare say, and except bread, I've--' 'I'm not hungry.' 'Well, that's for you to say. I would have heated the samovar, but I've no tea.... I'll go and see how your horse is getting on.' He went out and slammed the door. I looked round again, the hut struck me as more melancholy than ever. The bitter smell of stale smoke choked my breathing unpleasantly. The little girl did not stir from her place, and did not raise her eyes; from time to time she jogged the cradle, and timidly pulled her slipping smock up on to shoulder; her bare legs hung motionless. 'What's your name?' I asked her. 'Ulita,' she said, her mournful little face drooping more than ever. The forester came in and sat down on the bench. 'The storm 's passing over,' he observed, after a brief silence; 'if you wish it, I will guide you out of the forest.' I got up; Biryuk took his gun and examined the firepan. 'What's that for?' I inquired. 'There's mischief in the forest.... They're cutting a tree down on Mares' Ravine,' he added, in reply to my look of inquiry. 'Could you hear it from here?' 'I can hear it outside.'