"I see you are _all_ fools," A voice remarks roughly: The voice of a trader Who squeezes the peasants 270 For laputs or berries Or any spare trifles. But chiefly he's noted For seizing occasions When taxes are gathered, And peasants' possessions Are bartered at auction. "You start a discussion And miss the chief point. Why, who's the worst sinner? 280 Consider a moment." "Well, who then? You tell us." "The robber, of course." "You've not been a serf, man," Says Klimka in answer; "The burden was heavy, But not on your shoulders. Your pockets are full, So the robber alarms you; The robber with this case 290 Has nothing to do." "The case of the robber Defending the robber," The other retorts. "Now, pray!" bellows Klimka, And leaping upon him, He punches his jaw. The trader repays him With buffets as hearty, "Take leave of your carcase!" 300 He roars. "Here's a tussle!" The peasants are clearing A space for the battle; They do not prevent it Nor do they applaud it. The blows fall like hail. "I'll kill you, I'll kill you! Write home to your parents!" "I'll kill you, I'll kill you! 310 Heh, send for the pope!" The trader, bent double By Klimka, who, clutching His hair, drags his head down, Repeating, "He's bowing!" Cries, "Stop, that's enough!" When Klimka has freed him He sits on a log, And says, wiping his face With a broadly-checked muffler, 320 "No wonder he conquered: He ploughs not, he reaps not, Does nothing but doctor The pigs and the horses; Of course he gets strong!" The peasants are laughing, And Klimka says, mocking, "Here, try a bit more!" "Come on, then! I'm ready," The trader says stoutly, 330 And rolling his sleeves up, He spits on his palms. "The hour has now sounded For me, though a sinner, To speak and unite you," Iona pronounces. The whole of the evening That diffident pilgrim Has sat without speaking, And crossed himself, sighing. 340 The trader's delighted, And Klimka replies not. The rest, without speaking, Sit down on the ground. CHAPTER II PILGRIMS AND WANDERERS