A stone falls from the breasts of the spectators. You see that was all in the programme, it was a trick of the director for effect. The dollars and half dollars came down in a shower. How could they say “No” to the last of the Black Snakes, in Antelope reared on the ruins of Chiavatta? People have hearts. After the exhibition, the sachem drank beer and ate dumplings at the “Golden Sun.” His environment had exerted its influence, evidently. He found great popularity in Antelope, especially with the women,—there was even scandal about him. [Illustration] [Illustration: Yamyol (ANGEL) A VILLAGE SKETCH] [Illustration: YAMYOL (ANGEL) A VILLAGE SKETCH[1]] IN the little town of Lupiskory, after the funeral of widow Kaliksta, there were vespers, and after vespers old women, between ten and twenty in number, remained in the church to finish the hymn. It was four o’clock in the afternoon; but, since twilight comes in winter about that hour, it was dark in the church. The great altar, especially, was sunk in deep shade. Only two candles were burning at the ciborium; their flickering flames barely lighted a little the gilding of the doors, and the feet of Christ, hanging on a cross higher up. Those feet were pierced with an enormous nail, and the head of that nail seemed a great point gleaming on the altar. From other candles, just quenched, streaks of smoke were waving, filling the places behind the stalls with a purely church odor of wax. An old man and a small boy were busied before the steps of the altar. One was sweeping; the other was stretching the carpet on the steps. At moments, when the women ceased their singing, either the angry whisper of the old man was heard scolding the boy, or the hammering on the snow-covered windows of sparrows that were cold and hungry outside. The women were sitting on benches nearer the door. It would have been still darker had it not been for a few tallow candles, by the light of which those who had prayer-books were reading. One of those candles lighted well enough a banner fastened to the seat just beyond; the banner represented sinners surrounded by devils and flames. It was impossible to see what was painted on the other banners. The women were not singing; they were, rather, muttering with sleepy and tired voices a hymn in which these words were repeated continually,— “And when the hour of death comes, Gain for us, gain from Thy Son.” That church buried in shadow, the banners standing at the seats, the old women with their yellow faces, the lights flickering as if oppressed by the gloom,—all that was dismal beyond expression; nay, it was simply terrible. The mournful words of the song about death found there a fitting background.