The old fellow whistles: "Not long you've been serving Us, orthodox Christians, You, infidel railway! And welcome you were When you carried us cheaply From Peters to Moscow. (It cost but three roubles.) But now you want seven, 450 So, go to the devil! "Lady so insolent, lady so arrogant! Hiss like a snake as you glide! _Fig for you! Fig for you! Fig for you! Fig for you!_ Puff at the whole countryside! Crushing and maiming your toll you extort, Straight in the face of the peasant you snort, Soon all the people of Russia you may Cleaner than any big broom sweep away!" "Come, give us some music," 460 Says Vlass to the soldier, "For here there are plenty Of holiday people, 'Twill be to your profit. You see to it, Klimka!" (Though Vlass doesn't like him, Whenever there's something That calls for arranging He leaves it to Klimka: "You see to it, Klimka!" 470 And Klimka is pleased.) And soon the old soldier Is helped from the hay-cart: He's weak on his legs,--tall, And strikingly thin. His uniform seems To be hung from a pole; There are medals upon it. It cannot be said That his face is attractive, 480 Especially when It's distorted by _tic_: His mouth opens wide And his eyes burn like charcoal,-- A regular demon! The music is started, The people run back From the banks of the Volga. He sings to the music. * * * * * A spasm has seized him: 490 He leans on his niece, And his left leg upraising He twirls it around In the air like a weight. His right follows suit then, And murmuring, "Curse it!" He suddenly masters And stands on them both. "You see to it, Klimka!" Of course he'll arrange it 500 In Petersburg fashion: He stands them together, The niece and the uncle; Takes two wooden dishes And gives them one each, Then springs on a tree-trunk To make an oration. (The soldier can't help Adding apt little words To the speech of the peasant, 510 And striking his spoons.) * * * * * The soldier is stamping His feet. One can hear His dry bones knock together. When Klimka has finished The peasants come crowding, Surrounding the soldier, And some a kopeck give, And others give half: In no time a rouble 520 Is piled on the dishes. EPILOGUE GRISHA DOBROSKLONOW A CHEERFUL SEASON--CHEERFUL SONGS The feast was continued Till morning--a splendid, A wonderful feast! Then the people dispersing Went home, and our peasants Lay down 'neath the willow; Iona--meek pilgrim Of God--slept there too. And Sava and Grisha, The sons of the deacon, 10 Went home, with their parent Unsteady between them. They sang; and their voices, Like bells on the Volga, So loud and so tuneful, Came chiming together: