"Well," began the canon, "I was still a curate, and the parish priest was Father Gladysh--I am right, Father Gladysh. It was he who built over the vestry. But, eternal light to him!--well, once after mass, I say, 'Father Gladysh?' and he asks, 'What?' 'It seems to me that something will come of this,' I say. And he says, 'It seems to me, too, that something will come of it.' We look; from behind the wind-mill come out some men on horses, some on foot, and next banners and cannon. Then at once I think to myself, Oh! from the opposite side I think, sheep are coming? but they are not sheep, only cavalry. The moment these saw those: Stop! and the other side too: Stop! The minute the cavalry rushed out of the woods, these to the right, those to the left, these to the left, those after them. Then they see: Difficult! then on to them. When they began to fire beyond the mountain, something flashed again. 'Do you see, Father Gladysh?' I say, and he says, 'I see.' And there they were, just thundering from cannon and guns; those to the river, these won't let them cross; this that one, that the other one! Then these for a while have the best, again the others have. Roar! smoke! And then to the bayonets! All at once, I think, these are weakening. 'Father Gladysh,' I say, 'those are winning!' And he says, 'It seems to me, too, that they are winning.' The words were hardly out of my mouth when these to their legs! those after them. Then drown, kill, take captive, and I think, 'It is finishing--' But what finish! that--I say, just, but!--" Here the old man waved his hand, and, settling himself more deeply into the chair, fell, as it were, into meditation; but his head shook more than usual, and his eyes stared more. The inspector was crying from laughter. "Father Benefactor, who was fighting with whom; where was it, and when?" The canon put his hand to his ear and said,-- "Hei?" "I am just dying from laughter," remarked the inspector to Pani Skorabevski. "Perhaps a cigar?" "Perhaps coffee?" "No, I cannot, from laughter." The Skorabevskis laughed through politeness toward the inspector, though they had to listen to that narrative every Sunday. The joyousness was general; when it was interrupted by a low, timid voice from outside the porch, which said,-- "May He be praised!" Pan Skorabevski rose at once, passed along the porch, and inquired,-- "But who is there?" "It is I, Repa's wife?" "Why?" The woman bent as low as she could with the child, and seized his feet. "I came for salvation, serene heir, and for mercy." "My dear woman give me peace, even on a Sunday!" interrupted Pan Skorabevski with as good faith as if the woman had been attacking him every week day. "You see, besides, that I have guests. So I shall not leave them for you." "I will wait." "Well, wait, then. Besides, I shall not be broken in two."