One night I stepped off a Volga steamer at a landing far too small to be mentioned on the biggest map. It was nearly midnight and the rain was descending in torrents. My destination was a place distant between twenty-five and fifty miles--my information was no more definite than this--and the journey must needs be by horse or wagon. My companion and I were utterly at a loss to know how to proceed from the landing, for we could not see an arm’s length before us and we had not the remotest idea which direction to take. Presently we discovered a muzhik whom we hailed with joy. He told us he was waiting for a boat down the river--which he expected would come along about five o’clock in the morning. Where had he come from, we asked. “Petrovka,” he replied. Our destination! Our delight at the coincidence was unbounded and we straightway asked him how we were to get there, and the distance. To proceed at night was impossible, he told us, for the roads were flowing streams and the mud ankle-deep. As to the distance he had not the dimmest idea. “How long were you in coming?” we asked. “What time was it when you left Petrovka?” The fellow laughed as he answered: “Friend, you must know we have no clocks. When I left the sun was there--” and he pointed to about five degrees above the eastern horizon, “and when I reached here the sun was there--” and he pointed to about five degrees above the western horizon. So we knew it to be about three quarters of a day’s journey. He told us further that though there was a village a little more than a mile away from the landing, we could never reach it in such a storm. Just then a horse neighed, not twenty feet away. We eagerly splashed through the mud in the direction of the sound and found a young peasant on the point of driving off. He had brought some goods to the steamer we had just left and now he was returning to the village. We begged him to take us home with him and put us up for the night. He assented readily. Arrived at his house--a typical peasant’s hut with roof of mud and thatch--we helped him put up the horse and [Illustration: Women making hay] [Illustration: The “sleeping-box” over the stove. The platform is the family bed in the warm weather] followed him inside. His father and mother, and several brothers, were asleep on the floor. Peasants usually sleep on the floor in summer. In winter there are “sleeping-boxes” over the stove. The old woman was the only one who moved at our entrance, and she did not look at all surprised. She pointed to an ancient home-made bed and told us we might lie there if we liked, but the floor was better. We knew the bed would be swarming with vermin, so we chose the floor. The old woman threw down a sheepskin for my friend. I rolled myself in my traveling rug.