Vermont phÅ“nix. [volume] (Brattleboro, Vt.) 1834-1955, 1871-09-15


air of fathorly superiority. But it is beside
the rickety pump in front of the village
"shop of all sorts" that the great assembly
is held. There fathers discuss things in
general, with their mouths full of black
bread and salted cucumber there mothers
compare notes on family matters, or drive
hard bargains among themselves and
there children of every age amuse them
selves with the national sports of rolling in
the gutter and throwing dirt in each 9TH
ers eyes, varied by an occasional bout at
knuckled bones, by way of variety.
But in winter a sad change comes over
Bogorodske. Instead of the charming
little village, full of life and enjoyment,
you see nothing but cluster OF silent huts
half buried in snow, peering above the
great white desert that extends on every
side. All around, the bare, desolate fields
stretch their ghostly wastes to the horizon,
while here and there a solitary raven, dis
turbed by your approach, flaps heavily a.
way with n dismal scream ma like SOME he
lated spectre returning to its grave. The
few peasants who still linger about, muf-
fled in their thick sheepskin frOcks, survey
YOU with an air of disdainful establishment,
as if wondering what business you have
here at all; the leatless trees stand up
gaunt and grim against the cold grey sky,
like an army of skeletons; and over all
broods dead, dreary, ghostly silence,
broken only by the distant barking of
dog, or the moan of the wind through the
distant forest. And worse still, if you hap
pen TO stroll beyond the village after dark,
you will see pale spots of light, like the
fame of half quenched coal, fitting
among the trees-and hear long, melan-
choly howl, like The wall of the wind on
gusty winter night going drearily through
the still, frosty air-and suddenly find
yourself face to face with huge, gaunt, grey
wolf as savage and bloc dthirsty as hunger
can make him.
Well, it was on bitter January evening,
the winter before last, that six men were
assembled in one of the huts which l have
described. 1t was a room of the common
sort-a big bed, with patch work cover
let, filling up one side, the usual huge chest
in one corner, a picture of the Emperor on
one wall, picture of the bombardment of
Sebasto pol on the other, and the portrait of
a saint as usual beside the stove, several
clumsy wooden chairs, and low table, on
which stood "samovar," or Russian tea
urn, with teapot perched upon it, while
around it stood half dozen tumblers, full
or empty; for in Russia, you know, it's the
way to drink tea out of tumblers instead of
cups,-a ia shion which burns ones fingers
shockingly, If it does nothing else.
Beside the tea-urn stood a small lamp
(gurgling and sputtering as if it had bad
cold, which threw pale circle of light up
on the heavy cross-beam of the roof, and
the dark, sallow, bearded faces of the cem-
pany. They made IL very striking group
under the dim lamplight, these six men,
and all the more so from the strange man
ner in which they were behaving. In an
ordinary party of Russian peasants you
wo ufd have beard ceaseless tall. and laugh
ing, boisterous jokes, stories of Neighbor
This and Neighbor That, snatches of old
song in this very place by the same kind of
men in the days of Peter the Great, and,
po ssibly, if the story teller of the village
happened to be of the party, an old legend
or two, landed down from generation to
ge neration since Russia first became peo-
pie how lila MuIometz fought with the
Nightingale Brgand, and how Alexey
Popovitch slew the Flying Tartar. But
thes men were silent and thoughtful, no
Jokes, no stories, no laughter; every face
clouded with anxiety, every eye fixed
moodily on the ground.
And what is it, then, which made them so
gloomy? Let us listen to their talk, and
perhaps we may find out.
at is a sore Judgment on us ~ said one
who seemed TO be the host-a big, burly
man, with a tangled yellow beard. "The
like has not been since the year 81, when
the wolves came right into the village, and
killed nine of our dogs in one night. But
then there were many wolves while now il
IS only one that does all the mischief; and
yet, we, as many as we are, can do nothing
against him."
And how the mischief can we do any
thing" cried n second, against a brute
that scurries about as if he had wings
Pounce ho comes into the village, gobbles
up the first thing that comes to hand, and
o II again! and you may try to recollect his
|
utter Disappearance
"Well, we must do something TO stop it, y
said the third, grim old fellow, who had
had his nose taken off by frost bite
" Mother Avdotia's only COW killed last
week, poor Ivan Maslof torn to bits one
da y, Feodore Nikeetin's dog snapped VI
last night, and our watchman's shoulder
bitten through-brothers, we are wrong be-
fore God five let this thing go on r.
"Ah, it is all very well to say we must dc
S omething-but who's to do it?" returned
the second speaker emphatically. "When
we turn out, three or four together, tho
cunning rascal marks it, and keeps Off
and there's not man in the village, l take
it, that would venture upon him single
handed. Who'll try it think YEP
"I will y
1t was a very low, quiet voice that spoke
the last words but there was frmness in
it which no one could mistake. The speak
ers started, and looked up. The sixth Of
the party, seated in the farther corner neal
the door, had hitherto been so quiet that
they had almost forgotten his presence
but now every eye was turned upon him
He was young, but little over twenty
though his heavy moustachc and square
thick-set muscular frame made him appear
considerably older His face was coarse
and commonplace enough-tho sallow, low
browed. weather beaten countenance ofthC
genuine Russian peasant; but there was q
nameless sometime about the broad, square
jaw and small, deep set grey yeye, that would
have made you pick out that man among
all tn he six for any work requiring courage
and perseverance. And, in TRUTH Vladi-
mir Kovroff, young as he was, had already
perior med more than one feat which the
viii age possps still remembered with ad,