The centre of the crowd was a tall man, with large, drooping mustaches. To judge from his swarthy face, covered with thick gray bristles and a network of deep wrinkles, as well as from the gray tufts of hair which forced their way from under the dirty straw hat, he might have been fifty years of age. He was gazing on the ground, and the nostrils of his large, gristly nose were quivering; and when he raised his head, throwing his glance upon the windows of the _Starosta’s_ hut, his eyes--large, melancholy, and even morose--became visible; they were sunk deep within their orbits, and the bushy brows cast shadows over their dark pupils. He was dressed in the brown under-cassock of a lay-brother, worse for the wear; it hardly covered his knees, and was girt with cord. Over his back was flung a bag; in his right hand he carried a long stick with iron ferrule; his left hand he held in his bosom. The people eyed him suspiciously, derisively, with contempt; and with evident joy in having caught a wolf before he had had time to do hurt to their flock. He was passing through the village, and had asked for a drink at the window of the _Starosta’s_ hut. The _Starosta_ gave him cider and entered into conversation with him. The wayfarer, however, unlike his kind, answered unwillingly. The _Starosta_ asked him for his passport, but none was forthcoming. It was decided to send him to the local magistrate. The _Starosta_ chose as the man’s escort the village deputy, and was now in the hut giving him directions, having in the meantime left the prisoner in the midst of the mob which made sport of him. The prisoner stood near the trunk of a willow and rested against it his stooped back. Presently there appeared on the staircase of the hut a dim-eyed old man, with a foxy face and a gray, wedge-shaped beard. He lowered his booted feet step by step, measuredly, and his round stomach moved from side to side solidly under the long calico shirt. Just over his shoulder came to view the bearded, four-cornered face of the deputy. “Do you understand me, Efimushka?” the _Starosta_ questioned the deputy. “Why shouldn’t I understand? It’s easy enough. Simply means I am to take this man to the magistrate--and there’s an end of it!” The deputy, pronouncing his speech with measured emphasis and with comical dignity, winked at the public. “And the papers?” “The papers are stuck away in my bosom.” “Well, all right, then,” said the _Starosta_, and, scratching his sides energetically, he added: “Go, and God be with you!” “Well, shall we march on, father?” said the deputy to the prisoner. “You might furnish a conveyance,” grumbled the prisoner at the deputy’s proposition. The _Starosta_ smiled. “A con--vey--ance? The idea! There are lots of you fellows tramping across fields and villages. Where are all the horses to come from? You’ve got to make it on foot; that’s all there’s to it!”