The white-haired priest came up to him and laid his hand on his shoulder. “My lad,” he said, “do you know who has spoken to you--whose horse you have had the honour of holding?” “Yes,” said Ivan, wakening out of a dream; “no--yes--at least I know it was a boyar, a great, and good, and splendid boyar, with the face of an angel. I love him!” “Then pray for him all the days of thy life, for know that he is none other than thy sovereign lord and mine, the Czar Alexander Paulovitch.” Ivan stared, then burst out laughing. “You are jesting with me,” he said. “Nay, father, I am only a boy, but I know better than that. I am quite twelve years old, and I know very well that the Czar lives in St. Petersburg, and wears a golden crown, and sits upon a throne, and all the boyars stand uncovered around him.” “Still, I tell thee truth. That handsome young officer was the great Czar himself--the lord of all the Russias. To prove my words--I am a poor man, but I will give thee twice, three times its value for that coin in thy hand, which his hand touched.” Ivan shook his head. “No, no, father; I don’t believe a word of your story; but I love my boyar, and I will not give away his gift. He said I should serve him one day, and I mean to do it. Though, to be sure,” he added, thoughtfully, “I might almost part with it for poor Stefen’s sake, and to do a good deed. How will he dare to meet his master’s face--later than ever now?” “Never trouble thyself for thy friend Stefen; he is rich enough this day to buy his freedom, if he will. He who gave him back his life has taken care to make that life worth the keeping.” “Then he can marry Katinka?” “He can marry whom he pleases. Our lord the Czar never leaves anything half done.” “Oh! what a good day it has been!” and Ivan, in his own estimation far too old to be deceived by an idle story, was by no means too old to leap and dance for very joy. “You believe _that_,” said the priest; “then why do you doubt the rest of my story?” “Because,” returned Ivan, “I have wit enough to know that the great Czar, who ‘is God upon earth,’ as the proverb says, would not care for the life of a poor mujik, and toil hard to save it, as my boyar did this day.” “Well, fools will be fools while the world lasts. Here, take thy shuba; Stefen left it for thee when they brought him to the post-house. Go thy ways; and God teach thee that it shows more wit to believe what one is told than to question it.” “Good day, father,” returned Ivan; “I am going home--to Nicolofsky, where people speak the truth to their neighbours.” With this parting shaft, he drew on his shuba, and turned his steps homewards, highly pleased with his adventure. What a story he would have for the starost and mativshka, for Pope Nikita and one-eared Michael, not to speak of Anna Popovna, by no means the least in his estimation!