‘What is it, brother?’ I asked him; ‘why aren’t you cheerful? Have you some trouble?’ The lad did not answer me for a minute. ‘Yes, sir, I have,’ he said at last. ‘And such a trouble, there could not be a worse. My wife is dead.’ ‘You loved her ... your wife?’ The lad did not turn to me; he only bent his head a little. ‘I loved her, sir. It’s eight months since then ... but I can’t forget it. My heart is gnawing at me ... so it is! And why had she to die? A young thing! strong!... In one day cholera snatched her away.’ ‘And was she good to you?’ ‘Ah, sir!’ the poor fellow sighed heavily, ‘and how happy we were together! She died without me! The first I heard here, they’d buried her already, you know; I hurried off at once to the village, home--I got there--it was past midnight. I went into my hut, stood still in the middle of the room, and softly I whispered, “Masha! eh, Masha!” Nothing but the cricket chirping. I fell a-crying then, sat on the hut floor, and beat on the earth with my fists! “Greedy earth!” says I ... “You have swallowed her up ... swallow me too!--Ah, Masha!” ‘Masha!’ he added suddenly in a sinking voice. And without letting go of the cord reins, he wiped the tears out of his eyes with his sleeve, shook it, shrugged his shoulders, and uttered not another word. As I got out of the sledge, I gave him a few coppers over his fare. He bowed low to me, grasping his cap in both hands, and drove off at a walking pace over the level snow of the deserted street, full of the grey fog of a January frost. _April 1878._ THE FOOL There lived a fool. For a long time he lived in peace and contentment; but by degrees rumours began to reach him that he was regarded on all sides as a vulgar idiot. The fool was abashed and began to ponder gloomily how he might put an end to these unpleasant rumours. A sudden idea, at last, illuminated his dull little brain.... And, without the slightest delay, he put it into practice. A friend met him in the street, and fell to praising a well-known painter.... ‘Upon my word!’ cried the fool,’ that painter was out of date long ago ... you didn’t know it? I should never have expected it of you ... you are quite behind the times.’ The friend was alarmed, and promptly agreed with the fool. ‘Such a splendid book I read yesterday!’ said another friend to him. ‘Upon my word!’ cried the fool, ‘I wonder you’re not ashamed. That book’s good for nothing; every one’s seen through it long ago. Didn’t you know it? You’re quite behind the times.’ This friend too was alarmed, and he agreed with the fool. ‘What a wonderful fellow my friend N. N. is!’ said a third friend to the fool. ‘Now there’s a really generous creature!’ ‘Upon my word!’ cried the fool. ‘N. N., the notorious scoundrel! He swindled all his relations. Every one knows that. You’re quite behind the times.’