"That is what Vasil too used to say. He used to say: 'Let theirs be theirs, and ours ours.'" "Aye, never a good word dies, but, wheresoever it be uttered, flies thence through the world like a swallow." Ufim corroborated this with a nod. "True indeed!" he remarked. "Though also it has been said that a good word is Christ's, and a bad word the priest's." One of the old women shook her head vigorously at this, and croaked: "The badness lies not in any word of a priest, but in what you yourself have just said. You are greyheaded, Ufim, yet often you speak without thought." Presently Ufim's wife reappeared, and, waving her hands as though she were brandishing a sieve, began to vent renewed volleys of virulent abuse. "My God," she cried, "what sort of a man is that? Why, a man who neither speaks nor listens, but for ever keeps baying at the moon like a dog!" "NOW she's started!" Ufim drawled. Westward there were arising, and soaring skyward, clouds of such a similarity to blue smoke and blood-red flame that the steppe seemed almost to be in danger of catching fire thence. Meanwhile a soft evening breeze was caressing the expanse as a whole, and causing the grain to bend drowsily earthward as golden-red ripples skimmed its surface. Only in the eastern quarter whence night's black, sultry shadow was stealthily creeping in our direction had darkness yet descended. At intervals there came vented from the window above my head the hot odour of a dead body; and, whenever that happened, the dog's grey nostrils and muzzle would quiver, and its eyes would blink pitifully as it gazed aloft. Glancing at the heavens, Ufim remarked with conviction: "There will be no rain tonight." "Do you keep such a thing as a Psalter here?" I inquired. "Such a thing as a what?" "As a Psalter--a book?" No answer followed. Faster and faster the southern night went on descending, and wiping the land clean of heat, as though that heat had been dust. Upon me there came a feeling that I should like to go and bury myself in some sweet-smelling hay, and sleep there until sunrise. "Maybe Panek has one of those things?" hazarded Ufim after a long pause. "At any rate he has dealings with the Molokans." After that, the company held further converse in whispers. Then all save the more rotund of the old women left the forecourt, while its remaining occupant said to me with a sigh: "You may come and look at him if you wish." Small and gentle looked the woman's meekly lowered head as, folding her hands across her breast, she added in a whisper: "Oh purest Mother of God! Oh Thou of spotless chastity!"