The Bloomfield times. [volume] (New Bloomfield, Pa.) 1867-187?, 1872-04-16
THE THREE MASKED MEN.

II driver, pointing to few spots of
light that twinkled along the darkening
skyline; and Wen be there in another
quarter of an hour, if it please heaven
Lucky for us that it's not winter time, or
we'd have the gray coats (wolves) at our
heels before we got in.
"Are there many of them about here in
winter2" asked l.
"Many of them? A great deal too
many, Why, it was only last winter" he
goes on, with a genuinely Russian love of
frightening himself and other people,
"that a sledge came into the village, which
had been attacked by wolves close to where
we are now, on dark windy evening just
like this one and they gobbled up the
driver and horses, and everything but the
sledge itself-and that was a good deal
scratched"
." But if they ate up the horses, how did
the sledge get to the village ~
"Ah, BARN 70 answers the old rogue
with chuckle," "that's not my affair"
Our days work has been n long and hard
one, as may be seen by the smoking hanks
and quivering nostrils of our horses, and
the country through which we have pass
ed is not such as one loves to linger over.
It is, therefore, not without a feeling of
natural relief that l turn my back upon
the great waste that darleens slowly around
us, and watch the lights of the village COM
ing nearer and nearer, till at length we
scurry into the single street which it pos
sesses almost deserted at this hour,
through fear of the " Domovoi," " and halt
in front of long, low, substantial-looking
cottage-the abode of the "starosta, " or
head man of the village, with whom we
propose to take up our quarters for the
night. There is no lack of hospitality
about the Russian peasant; and almost be-
fore my driver can explain who we are, /
find myself seized by both hands and drag
ged into the house, my dusty coat and boots
pulled Off and myself seated i'll the place of
honor beside the immense stove, with a
brimming tumbler of tea in front of me;
while the driver, n little further off, lights
his pipe with complacent air, as he took
to himself some credit for my being there at
all.
While slipping my tea and munching the
black bread wherewith my hosts wife, q
stout, fresh-looking woman of five ano
thirty, supplies me ad libitum, ! glance
around the room, which is merely an ell
larged and ornamented copy of what have
seen in every hamlet on my road.-ThC
heavy cross beams of the roof, the rougl
hewn chairs and tables the huge tea-urn
the gilt edged picture of saint in the fal
corner with small lamp burning before il
the enormous stove, on the broad flat toI
of which my entertainers all want to sleeI
in winter-the broad clumsy bed with III
patchwork coverlet, are all there. AnC
there, too, on the opposite side of the room
is the huge painted chest, barred ant
banded with iron, which is the Russian
peasants pride and glory in which he keep
his Sunday clothes, and whatever valuable
he may possess, and upon the painting ant
decorating of which he often eXpends
sum which it must have cost him many
hard days work, and many a supperles
night to raise
But even in their first hasty survey Q
the surroundings, my eyes have time to re
mark one object, which is the very last tina
one would expect to find under the roof c
Russian peasant, whose sole weapon
usually the short AK with which he chop
his firewood, puts together his furniture
builds his log hut, and occasionally split
the head of hiswife or father. just opposit
where sithanging upon a nail in the wal
is a large pistol, evidently unused for
considerable time, to judge by the rus
which covers it. Our friend the starostr'
following the direction of my glance, give
asignificant chuckle.
"There's something to look at, BARN,
says he, nodding in the direction of IL
weapon" You don't often see those to!
in our shops, do you?"
"Well, indeed, brother, it's hardly u
sort of thing one would expect to see so &
from the town. Do you keep it to sho
the 'takarans (cockroaches) with ?'
My host gives hoarse believing laugl
at this not very brilliant joke, echoed
the shriller treble Of his wife; and crossii
the room takes down the pistol from
perch and lays it ON the table. Some lette
branded into the stock catch my eye, al
holding it up to the light l read, Gap
IA, 1869" look inquiringly at my ent'
tainer for the answer to this enigma.