The Portland daily press., 1890-12-20
THE PEDplE Err.
Translated from the RussIan.l

In the days of my early youth there
lived a peddler called Uncle Fedia.
What his real name might be, whence
he came, whether he had ever had
family, or more pretentious occupa-
ton. no one knew. There are many
such beings in our land, who wander
about as il belonging nowhere. and as
If the Almighty had sown and then for
gotten them. They seem like the sea
gulls-useless birds-that roam about
without ever resting.
Uncle Fedia went from one village to
another, appearing among us four or
five times year with plump pack on
his thin little horse. He wore a fiat
cap and long. ragged foxskin pelisse
and had the cowed expression of a
whipped dog: liz fact, he looked more
like II highway vagabond than an honest
Russian peasant. for the latter always
has frank face and smiling lips, and
wears sheepskin touloupe.
None of the villagers liked Uncle Fe-
dia. for they suspected him of being in
the habit of casting spells 1t was not
for nothing. they said, that he kept, at
the very bottom of his pack, all sorts of
books, pens and ink, besides mysterious
glasses, through which he could see a
man three yersts away He wandered
everywhere, often arriving at a hamlet
after nightfall and going away before
dawn. What wonder, then, that chill
dren and even cattle looked at him
askance!
La the homes of the sick he was ac-
cused of more serious misdemeanors.
Those who rashly gave him nights
shelter often missed various objects
when he had gone on his way-silver
spoons. articles of clothing, ETC., and
the servants always agreed in laying
the thefts to his charge. He was also
known to be confirmed drunkard,
having more than once been found I'M
conscious lying between the wheels of
his cart on the high road. Other men
had been known to fall thus through
fatigue or cold, but it was very easy to
declare that the homeless peddler had
been drinking. /.
There was hardly ever row in tav-
efn but Fedia was proved TO be at the
bottom of it; the police, after due inves-
LEGATION. deciding that the trouble orig
mated with the silent stranger who was
sitting in a corner, and whose passports
were, to say the least, suspicious. In
consequence of these facts the peddler
was often chased and hooted at in the
streets, and when the children pelted
him with stones he would whip up his
pony and make off so meekly that every
one knew thst he had bad conscience.
In short it was considered impossible for
any honest man to like Uncle Fedia
- However, was sincerely fond of the
old fellow. He seems to have been a
part of my childhood, and will always
figure in my memory in the place of
honor. which is sacred to the keenest
joys. AS far back as can remember,
he was associated with the eve Of great
feast days. and can still recall the SEN
sation that was created by the sound of
his little bell at the gateway. He would
come into the warm vestibule, in his
foxskin pelisse. bringing an air of cold
and snow with him, and here he would
open his great basket with its two COM
partments. and oh. what treasures were
revealed!
l. The whole household would assemble
rs he displayed his wares. The servant
maids, With glistening eyes, would hus-
tie each other in their eagerness to see
more closely and to handle the ribbons,
iaces and embroidered handkerchief.
As for me, always waited with iInpa-
thence for the opening of the lowest case
of all, where the playthings were kept,
and if / had no money Uncle Fedia
seemed to read my despairing glance and
often gave me credit for pocket knife
or brightly colored picture from Souz-
dal. Later, 1t was always he who brought
me books, gunpowder and fish bait At
sight of such proofs of our amicable rela-
tions my father would frown sternly and
make sign to our old major domo, who
would Immediately assume bulldog air
of watcbfulness, and when all the pur-
chases were made Uncle Fedia, without
moments delay, would pack up his
goods and go out, closely watched as he
passed through the court yard, and no
one ever helped him to lift his heavy
pack into the cart. / more than once
thought of taking the old mans part, but
my courage failed me, and knew, more
over, that it would be useless to strive
against the general Prejudice.
The last time Uncle Fedia came 30
our house was on stormy Sunday
evening. As he was going away he
looked up at the sky and asked me
timidly whether he might be allowed to
pass the night in our stable wit, his
horse. My mother. however, turned
pale at the suggestion, and my father
in peremptory tone The old
man went on his way without another
word, and ] ran after him and whis.
pered:
"Uncle Fedia, the mill is open; you
could take shelter there"
Thanks, child" he answered, "but
shall soon reach town"
But suppose the storm overtakes
your"
1T will not matter, child; there would
De no one to grieve for Uncle Fedia," he
id sadly.