"'Tis strange!" say the peasants, "By what kind of magic Can one single peasant Gain such a dominion All over the country?" "No magic he uses Save truthfulness, brothers! But say, have you ever Heard tell of Prince Yurloff's 540 Estate, Adovshina?" "We have. What about it?" "The manager there Was a Colonel, with stars, Of the Corps of Gendarmes. He had six or seven Assistants beneath him, And Ermil was chosen As principal clerk. He was but a boy, then, 550 Of nineteen or twenty; And though 'tis no fine post, The clerk's--to the peasants The clerk is a great man; To him they will go For advice and with questions. Though Ermil had power to, He asked nothing from them; And if they should offer He never accepted. 560 (He bears a poor conscience, The peasant who covets The mite of his brother!) Well, five years went by, And they trusted in Ermil, When all of a sudden The master dismissed him For sake of another. And sadly they felt it. The new clerk was grasping; 570 He moved not a finger Unless it was paid for; A letter--three farthings! A question--five farthings! Well, he was a pope's son And God placed him rightly! But still, by God's mercy, He did not stay long: "The old Prince soon died, And the young Prince was master. 580 He came and dismissed them-- The manager-colonel, The clerk and assistants, And summoned the peasants To choose them an Elder. They weren't long about it! And eight thousand voices Cried out, 'Ermil Girin!' As though they were one. Then Ermil was sent for 590 To speak with the Barin, And after some minutes The Barin came out On the balcony, standing In face of the people; He cried, 'Well, my brothers, Your choice is elected With my princely sanction! But answer me this: Don't you think he's too youthful?' 600 "'No, no, little Father! He's young, but he's wise!' "So Ermil was Elder, For seven years ruled In the Prince's dominion. Not once in that time Did a coin of the peasants Come under his nail, Did the innocent suffer, The guilty escape him, 610 He followed his conscience." "But stop!" exclaimed hoarsely A shrivelled grey pope, Interrupting the speaker, "The harrow went smoothly Enough, till it happened To strike on a stone, Then it swerved of a sudden. In telling a story Don't leave an odd word out 620 And alter the rhythm! Now, if you knew Ermil You knew his young brother, Knew Mityenka, did you?"