Humble but resolute, he faces the assembly. “No, I cannot consent that he lead the _gaspadine_ to the Medvetch Dom.” “But assure the ‘old one’ that his son will only point out the den and then go away.” The “old one” answers:-- “The bear does not come to steal my pigs. Why should I get him shot? Besides, a bear chewed up three Buriats last year. It would be sad to be devoured even for the _gaspadine’s_ fifty roubles.” The reward is doubled, and forty kopecks’ worth of vodka produced. Many advisers give aid, and one suggests that “the son may mount a tree one hundred _sagenes_ from the mansion of the bear!” But still the father refuses. “No, I will not allow him to take out his horse and hunting-sledge.” The son, whose half-dozen full-grown children are looking on, shakes his head dolefully. A big eagle-nosed peasant, of hunting proclivities, comes in. “I will give my hunting-sleigh if he will go,” he calls. But the shrill voice of the “old one” rings out again, “I do not consent. I do not consent. My son shall not go to the mansion of the bear.” The guide shrugs his shoulders. We have hit the ledge of Russian authority. No one will budge. The old man has his way. As is the management of the household, so is that of the village. While the _Hazan_ rules over the common property of the family (_izba_), the village elder (_Selski Starosta_) is guardian over the grouped households which make up the Mir. As the household goods belong to no one individual, but are common property, so the land farmed by the villagers is a joint possession whose title rests with the commune. The family is held for the debts and behavior of all of its individuals; and similarly, with certain limitations, the village community is answerable for the taxes and discipline of each of its members. On a humble scale it is the spirit of socialism incarnate. Within the commune no capitalistic employers, no wage-taking worker-class, no castes exist, and no individuals are born with special privileges. No distinctions of rank or fortune lift some above their fellows. The manner of living is the same for all. Each head of a family has a right of vote, and elects by the freest, simplest means his own judges and village rulers. The land, the source of livelihood, is divided among the producers by their own unfettered suffrage. The chief man of the community--he who drums out the voters to the Mir, lists those who do not work sufficiently on the pope’s field, and reports the toll of taxes to the Government--is simply an elderly peasant clothed with a little brief authority. There is no household in the average village which is looked up to as more genteel than the rest. No such distinctions as prevail in America will reveal that such a farmer’s family is musical and well-read, such another has traveled to Niagara Falls, such a third has blue-ribbon sheep. In Russian peasant circles all is equality, almost identity.