THE DAY OF ATONEMENT (continued 2)

As he gazed at the pond, he saw in the water something resembling a gnat flying across the stars. He looked more closely, and saw the gnat grow to the size of a fly, and the fly to a sparrow, and the sparrow to a crow, and the crow to a hawk.

“Well, I’ll be damned!” cried the miller, and, raising his eyes, he saw something flying not through the water but through the air, and making straight for the mill.

“The Lord preserve us! There’s Khapun again hurrying to the city after his prey. Look at him, the unholy brute, how late he is this time! It’s past midnight already, and he’s just starting out.”

While the miller was standing there staring up at the sky, the cloud, which was now as large as an eagle, circled over the mill and began to descend. Out of it came a humming sound like out of a huge swarm of bees that has left its hive and is hovering over a garden.

“What! Is he going to rest on my dam again?” thought the miller. “What a habit he makes of it now! Wait a bit, mister! I’ll put up a cross there next year, and then you won’t come stopping at my dam on your journey like a gentleman at an inn. But what is he making that noise for, like those rattling kites children fly? I must hide under the sycamores again, and see what he’s going to do next.”

But before he had had time to reach the trees, the miller looked up and nearly shrieked aloud with terror. He saw his guest hovering right over the mill holding—what? You will never guess what the devil held in his clutches.

It was Yankel the Jew! Yes, he had brought back the selfsame Yankel whom he had carried away the year before. He was holding him tight by the back, and in Yankel’s hands was a huge bundle tied up in a sheet. The devil and Yankel were abusing one another in the air, and making as much fuss as ten Jews in a bazaar squabbling over one peasant.

The devil dropped on to the dam like a stone. If it hadn’t been for his soft bundle every bone in Yankel’s body would certainly have been broken to pieces. As soon as they touched the ground both jumped to their feet and went at it again, hammer and tongs.

“Oi, oi! What a dirty, foul trick!” screamed Yankel. “Couldn’t you have let me down more gently? I suppose you knew you had a living man in your claws?”

“I wish you and your bundle had gone right through the earth!”

“Pooh! What harm does my little bundle do you? You don’t have to carry it.”

“Your little bundle indeed! A whole mountain of trash! I have only just managed to drag you back. Oo-ff! There was nothing about this in our contract.”

“But when has it ever been known that a man went on a journey without any baggage? If you carry a man you must carry his things too; that’s understood without any contract. I see! You’ve been trying to cheat poor Yankel the Jew from the very start, and that’s why you’re quarrelling now!”

“Huh! Any one who tried to cheat you, you old fox, wouldn’t live three days! I’m precious sorry I ever agreed to anything!”

“And do you think I am perfectly delighted to have made your acquaintance? Oi, vei! You’d better tell me yourself what our contract was. But you may have forgotten it, so I’ll remind you. We made a bet. Perhaps you will say we didn’t make a bet? That would be a nice trick!”

“Who said we didn’t make a bet? Did I say we didn’t?”

“And how could you say we didn’t, when we made it right here in this very place? Perhaps you don’t remember what the bet was, as I do. You said: Jews are usurers, Jews sell the people vodka, Jews have pity on their own people but on no one else; that’s why every one wishes them to the devil. Of course, perhaps you didn’t say that, and perhaps I didn’t say in answer: there stands a miller behind that very sycamore tree who, if he had any pity for Jews, would shout to you now and say: ‘Drop him, Mr. Devil; he has a wife, he has children!’ But he won’t do it. That was number one!”

“How could the wretch have guessed that?” thought the miller; but the devil said:

“Very well; number one!”

“And then I said—don’t you remember?—I said: as soon as I’ve gone the miller will open a tavern and will begin selling diluted vodka. He lends money already at a fine rate of interest. That was number two!”

“All right; number two!” the devil agreed, but the miller scratched his head and thought:

“How could the infernal brute have guessed all that?”

“And I went on to say that, as a matter of fact, Christians did wish us to the devil. But do you think, said I, that if one of us Jews were here now and saw what you want to do to me he wouldn’t raise a fine riot? But every one you ask will say of the miller in a year: the devil fly away with him! That was number three!”

“All right; number three. I don’t deny it.”

“And a fine business it would be if you did deny it! What sort of an honest Hebrew devil would you be after that? Tell me now what you agreed to do on your part.”

“I have done all I agreed. I have left you alive for a year; number one. I have brought you back here; number two——”

“And what about number three? What are you going to do about that?”

“What do you think I’m going to do? If you win the bet I’ll let you go scot free.”

“And my losses? Don’t you know that you owe me for my losses?”

“Losses? What losses can you have had when we allowed you to do business with us for a whole year without paying a license? You wouldn’t have made as much profit in three years on earth. Just think for yourself: I carried you off in your shirt without even a pair of shoes to your feet, and look what a big bundle you’ve brought back! Where did you get it from if you made nothing but losses?”

“Oi, vei! There you are scolding me about my bundle again! Whatever I made there by trading is my own business. Did you count my profits? I tell you I made nothing but losses out of my dealings with you, besides losing a year here on earth.”

“Oh, you swindler you!” shouted the devil.

“I a swindler? No, you’re a swindler yourself, you thief, you liar, you scab!”

And they began again to wrangle so violently that their words became quite unintelligible. They waved their arms, their skull-caps quivered, and they stood up on tip-toe like two cocks preparing to fight. The devil was the first to regain control of himself.

“But we don’t yet know who has won the bet! It is true that the miller didn’t take pity on you, but we haven’t decided the other points yet. We haven’t asked the people whether he opened a tavern or not.”

“I have opened two!” the miller thought, scratching his head again. “Oh, why didn’t I wait a year? Then Yankel would have been sent to the devil for good, but now something disagreeable may come of it.”

He looked round at his mill. Couldn’t he possibly slip away to the village by crawling behind it? But just as he was contemplating this move, the sound of muttering and of uncertain footsteps came to his ears from the wood. Yankel threw his bundle over his shoulder, and ran to the very sycamore tree where the miller was hiding. The miller hardly had time to slip behind a big willow tree before the devil and Yankel were both under the sycamore, and at that moment Gavrilo appeared at the far end of the dam. Gavrilo’s coat was in tatters and was hanging off one shoulder; his hat was on one side of his head, and his bare feet were continually quarrelling with one another. If one wanted to go to the right, the other, out of contrariness, tried to go to the left. One pulled one way and the other the other, until the poor man’s head and feet nearly flew off in opposite directions. So the poor lad staggered along, weaving patterns all across the dam from one side to the other, but not progressing forward very fast.

The devil saw that Gavrilo was full, so he came out and stood in the middle of the dam just as he was. Why the devil need any one stand on ceremony with a drunkard?

“Good evening, good fellow!” he called. “Where did you get so full?”

As he said this, the miller noticed for the first time how miserable and ragged Gavrilo had grown during the last year. And it was all because he drank up at his master’s tavern everything that he earned from his master. It was long since he had seen any money; he took it all out in vodka.

The workman walked right up to the devil, saying:

“Whoa there! What has come over these devilish feet of mine? When I want them to walk, they stop; when they see any one standing under my very nose, they rush on ahead. Who are you?”

“With your permission, I am the devil.”

“Wha-at? I believe you’re lying. Well, I never! But perhaps you are right after all! There are your horns and your tail, just as they ought to be. But why do you wear ringlets hanging down your cheeks?”

“To tell you the truth, I’m the Hebrew devil.”

“Aha! There’s a marvel for you! If I were to tell people I had seen your honour no one would believe me. Wasn’t it you who carried off our Yankel last year?”

“Yes, it was I.”

“And whom are you after now? Not me? If you are, I swear I’ll yell. Yes, I’ll yell like mad. You don’t know what a voice I have.”

“Come, don’t scream for nothing, good fellow. What good would you be to me?”

“Then perhaps it’s the miller you want? If you’d like me to call him, I will. But no, wait a bit. Who would be our inn-keeper if you took him away?”

“Does he keep an inn?”

“Does he? He keeps two: one in the village and one by the side of the road.”

“Ha! ha! ha! And is that why you would be sorry to lose the miller?”

“Oi, what a loud laugh you have! Ha! I’m not the fellow to be sorry on the miller’s account. No, I didn’t mean that at all. He’s not a man to be sorry for. He thinks poor Gavrilo’s a fool. And he’s right too. I’m not very clever—don’t think ill of me for it—but still, when I eat I don’t put my porridge in another man’s mouth, but into my own. And if I get married it will be for myself, and if I don’t get married it will be for myself too. Am I right or not?”

“You’re right, you’re right, but I don’t yet know what you’re driving at.”

“Hee, hee, perhaps you don’t know because you don’t need to. But I need to know, and I do know why he wants to get me married. Oi, I know it very well, even though I’m not very bright. When you carried Yankel away that time I was sorry to see him go, and I said to my master: Well, who is going to keep the inn for us now? And he answered: Bah, you fool, do you think some one won’t turn up? Perhaps I’ll keep it myself! That’s why I say now: take the miller if you want him; we’ll find some one else to be a Jew in his place. And now let me tell you, my good man—good gracious, your honour, don’t think ill of me for calling a foul fiend a man!—and now let me tell you something: I’m getting terribly sleepy. Do as you please, but catch him yourself; I’m going to bed, I am, because I’m not very well. That will be splendid. Ah!”

Gavrilo’s legs began weaving again, and he had hardly opened the door of the mill before he fell down and began to snore.

The devil laughed merrily, and, going to the edge of the dam, beckoned to Yankel where he stood under the sycamore tree.

“You seem to have won, Yankel,” he shouted. “It looks very much like it. But give me something to wear, all the same; I’ll pay you for it.”

Yankel took a pair of breeches to the light and looked them over to be sure he wasn’t giving the devil a new pair, and while he was busy with them, an ox-cart appeared on the road leading out of the wood. The oxen were sleepily nodding their heads, the wheels were quietly squeaking, and in the cart lay a peasant, Opanas the Slow, without a coat, without a hat, without boots, bawling a song at the top of his voice.

Opanas was a good peasant, but the poor fellow sorely loved vodka. Whenever he dressed up to go anywhere Kharko would be sure to call to him from his look-out at the inn-door:

“Won’t you drink a little mugful, Opanas? What’s your hurry?”

And Opanas would drink it.

Then, when he had crossed the dam and reached the village, the miller himself would call to him from the door of the other tavern:

“Won’t you come in and have a little mugful, Opanas? What’s the hurry?”

And Opanas would have another drink there. First thing you knew he would turn home without having been anywhere else at all.

Yes, he was a good peasant, but fate had ordained him always to fall between the two taverns. And yet he was a merry fellow and was always singing songs. That is man’s nature. When he has drunk up everything he possesses and knows that an angry wife is waiting for him at home, he will make up a song and think he has got rid of his troubles. And so it was with Opanas. He was lying in his wagon singing so loudly that even the frogs jumped into the water as he drove up, and this was his song:

“Oi, what is that devilish brute standing right in the middle of the dam for, keeping my oxen from crossing? If I wasn’t too tired to get out of the cart, I’d show him how to plant himself there in the middle of the road. Gee, gee, gee-up!”

“Stop a minute, my good man!” said the devil very sweetly. “I want to have a minute’s talk with you.”

“A minute’s talk? All right then, talk away, only I’m in a hurry. The tavern at Novokamensk will soon be closed so that no one can get in. But I don’t know what you want to talk about; I don’t know you. Well?”

“About whom were you singing that pretty song?”

“Thank you for praising it! I was singing about the miller that lives in this mill, but whether the song was pretty or not is my own affair, because I was singing it to myself. Perhaps some people would fly when they heard the song, perhaps some would cry. Gee, gee, gee-up! What! Are you still standing there?”

“I’m still standing here.”

“What for?”

“You said in your song that the miller’s vodka is good. Is that so?”

“Aha, now I see how sly you are! You begin quarrelling with a man’s song before he has sung it to the end. That’s the devil’s own trick! You don’t know the proverb, I see: don’t go to hell before your father; if you do, you’ll be sorry. If that’s how you feel, I’d better sing my song to the end, so here goes:

“Get out of the way, then! What are you standing there for? What do you want now? Wait a minute till I get out of my wagon and find out whether you’re going to stand there much longer! What would you think if I gave you a taste of my stick, hey?”

“I’m going in a minute, my good man, only tell me one thing more. What would you think if the devil flew away with your miller here as he flew away with Yankel?”

“What would I think? I wouldn’t think anything at all. He’ll get him some day, that’s certain; he’ll surely get him. But you’re still standing there, I see. Take care, I’m climbing out of my wagon! Look, I’ve already raised one leg!”

“All right, all right, go along with you if you’re as cross as all that!”

“Are you out of the way?”

“Yes.”

“Gee, gee, gee-up!”

The oxen shook their horns, the yoke and axles creaked, the wagon trembled, and Opanas continued his song:

The wheels bumped down off the dam, and Opanas’ song died away behind the hill.

But before it had quite died away another song rang out from across the river. A ringing chorus of women’s voices came streaming through the night, first from afar, and then from in the wood. A party of women and girls, who had been gathering in the harvest on a distant farm, were now on their way home late at night, and were singing to give themselves courage in the wood.

The devil at once slipped to Yankel’s side under the willow tree.

“Come, give me something more to wear, quick!”

Yankel handed him a heap of rags. The devil hurled them to the ground, and seized the bundle.

“Here! What do you mean by giving me these rags as if I were a beggar? I’d be ashamed to be seen in them. Give me something respectable!”

The devil seized what he wanted, folded his wings, which were as soft as a bat’s, in a second, jumped like a flash into a pair of blue breeches as wide as the sea, threw on the rest of his clothes, drew his belt tight, and covered his horns with a high fur hat. Only his tail hung out over the top of one boot, and trailed along in the sand like a snake.

Then he smacked his lips, stamped his foot, stuck his arms akimbo, and went out to meet the lasses, looking for all the world like any young townsman, or perhaps some would-be gentleman steward.

He planted himself in the middle of the dam.

The song rang out nearer and nearer and clearer and clearer, floating away under the bright moon until it seemed as if it must wake the whole of the sleeping world. Then it suddenly broke off short.

The young women poured out of the wood as poppies might pour out of a girl’s apron, saw the long-tailed dandy standing before them, and instantly huddled together in a group at the farther end of the dam.

“Who is that standing there?” asked one of the girls.

“It’s the miller,” answered another.

“The miller! Why, it doesn’t look like him one bit!”

“Perhaps it’s his workman.”

“Who ever saw a workman dressed like that?”

“Tell us who you are if you’re not a bad spirit!” called the widow Buchilikha, evidently the boldest of the party.

The devil bowed to them from a distance, and then approached, cringing and scraping like any little upstart who tries to appear a gentleman.

“Don’t be afraid, my birdies,” said he. “I’m a young man, but I won’t do you any harm. Come on, and don’t be afraid.”

Each trying to push the other ahead, the women and girls stepped on to the dam, and soon surrounded the devil. Ah, there is nothing pleasanter than to be surrounded by a dozen or so frolicsome lasses bombarding you with swift glances, nudging one another with their elbows, and giggling. The devil’s heart was beginning to leap and sparkle a little, like birch bark in a fire; he hardly knew what to do or where to turn. And the girls kept laughing at him louder and louder.

“That’s right, that’s right, little birdies!” thought the miller, peering out from behind his gnarled willow-tree. “Remember, my duckies, how many songs Philipko has sung with you, how many dances he has led! See what trouble I’m in! Save me; I’m caught like a fly in a cobweb!”

He thought that if only they were to give the devil one little pinch the fiend would sink into the ground.

But old Buchilikha stopped the girls and exclaimed:

“Get along with you, little magpies, you’ve laughed at the poor lad till his nose hangs down and his arms are limp. Tell us, young fellow, for whom are you waiting here at the edge of the pond?”

“For the miller.”

“Then you’re a friend of his?”

“A plague upon any friend of mine that’s like him!” the miller tried to cry, but his words stuck in his throat, and the devil replied:

“He’s no very great friend of mine, but I can call him an old acquaintance.”

“Is it long since you’ve seen him?”

“Yes, a long time.”

“Then you wouldn’t recognise him now. He used to be a nice lad, but he holds his head so high now that you couldn’t touch his nose with a pitchfork.”

“Really?”

“Yes, indeed. It’s true, isn’t it, girls?”

“It’s true, true, true!” chattered the whole bevy.

“Tut, tut, not quite so loud!” cried the devil, putting his fingers in his ears. “Tell me: what has happened to him, and since when has he changed?”

“Since he grew rich.”

“And began to lend money.”

“And opened a tavern.”

“He and his horrid Kharko have fuddled my husband Opanas so that the poor man never goes anywhere now except to the tavern.”

“He has ruined our husbands and fathers with his drink.”

“Oi, oi, he’s a misery to us all, the horrid miller!” screamed one of the band, and in place of their songs, a chorus of wails and women’s lamentations rang out across the river.

Philip rather scratched his head to hear the way the young women were interceding for him. But the devil’s mind now seemed to be quite made up. He glanced at the girls out of one corner of his eye and rubbed his hands together.

“And that isn’t all!” shouted the widow Buchilikha louder than the loudest. “Have you heard what he wanted to do to the widow’s Galya?”

“Faugh!” spat the miller. “What a damned lot of magpies they are! What need to tell what they’re not asked about? And how in the world did they find it out? Though it only happened in the village to-night, they have heard the whole story in the hay-fields! Why on earth does God allow women to live in this world?”

“And what did my friend try to do to the widow’s daughter?” asked the devil, looking about him as if he weren’t particularly interested in the story.

So the magpies went on to tell him everything, talking all at once, and laid the whole affair before him from beginning to end.

The devil shook his head.

“Oi, oi, oi! That’s bad, very bad. I don’t suppose any one ever heard of your former inn-keeper Yankel doing anything like that?”

“Oh, what Jew ever thought of doing such a thing?”

“Oh, no, never!”

“I see, my daisies, my little peaches, that you don’t love my friend very much.”

“Let him get the love of all the devils; he needn’t expect any from us!”

“Oi, oi, oi, you don’t wish him much good, I see!”

“May the fever take him and shake him to pieces!”

“May he follow his uncle into the pond!”

“May the devil carry him off as he carried off Yankel!”

They all burst out laughing.

“You are right, Olena; he is worse than a Jew.”

“At least the Jew was a decent fellow; he let the girls alone and lived with his Sarah.”

The devil actually jumped in his tracks.

“Thank you, thank you, my birdies, for your friendly words. Isn’t it time for you to be going on?”

With that he threw back his head like a cock that intends to give an extra loud crow, and burst into a fit of uncontrollable laughter. He laughed so loud that all the evil spirits on the bed of the river woke up, and circles began spreading across the surface of the pond. But the girls shied away from him like a flock of sparrows into which some one has thrown a stone, and vanished as if the wind had suddenly blown them off the dam.

The goose-flesh ran up and down the miller’s back, and he stared down the road that led to the village.

“The best thing for me to do,” he thought, “is to make off after those girls as fast as my legs will carry me. I used to be able to run with the best.”

But at that moment he suddenly felt relieved, for he saw some one coming toward the mill-dam. And it wasn’t just any one, either, but his own servant Kharko.

“A miss is as good as a mile!” he thought. “There is my man!”

X

The servant was barefooted; he was wearing a red shirt; a cap without a brim was stuck on the back of his head, and on a stick he was carrying Opanas’ new boots, which were dripping tar all over the dam.

“What a hurry he’s in!” thought the miller. “He’s got hold of the boots already. But never mind, all my hopes are centred on him now.”

As soon as the servant caught sight of a stranger on the dam he instantly thought that here was some thieving tramp waiting to steal his boots. So he stopped a few steps from Khapun and said:

“You’d better not come any nearer, I warn you! I won’t give them up!”

“What’s the matter with you? Come to your senses, good man! Haven’t I boots of my own? Look, they are better than yours!”

“Then why have you planted yourself there by night, like a crooked willow tree by a pond?”

“Well, you see, I wanted to ask you a question.”

“Splendid! A riddle is it, eh? Who told you I could answer riddles better than any one else?”

“Ha, ha, I’ve heard people say so!”

The soldier set down his boots, took out his tobacco-pouch, and began filling his pipe. Then he struck a light with a flint, and, blowing out a thick cloud of smoke from under his nose, said:

“Now, then, spout it out. What’s your riddle?”

“It isn’t exactly a riddle. I wanted to ask you who you think is the best man in this neighbourhood?”

“I am!”

“And why do you think that? Isn’t there any one here better than you are?”

“You ask me what I think. Very well, I answer that I won’t give the first place to any one.”

“You’re right. And the miller, what sort of a man is he?”

“The miller?”

The soldier blew out of his mouth a cloud of smoke that looked as large in the moonlight as the tail of a white horse. Then he eyed the devil askance and asked:

“You’re not a Customs officer, are you?”

“No!”

“And you’re not in the police—a detective, by any chance?”

“No, no, I tell you! What, a clever chap like you, and you can’t even see when a man’s just an ordinary fellow and when he isn’t?”

“Who said I couldn’t? I can see through and through you. I only asked that on the chance. And now, let me see; you asked me what sort of man the miller was?”

“Yes.”

“Well, he’s just about medium height, neither very large nor very small; a good average.”

“Oh, that’s not what I wanted to know!”

“Isn’t it? What more do you want me to tell you? Perhaps you would like to know where his warts are, if he has any?”

“You’re trying to throw dust in my eyes I see, but I’m in a hurry. Tell me in plain words: is the miller a good man or a bad one?”

The soldier blew another huge tail of smoke out of his mouth and said:

“What a hasty fellow you are! You like to eat, but you won’t chew.”

The devil opened his eyes wide, and the miller’s heart jumped for joy.

“What a tongue that boy has!” he thought. “And yet how often have I wished that it might drop off. But now it has come in useful. How he is roasting the devil!”

“You like to eat, but you won’t chew, I tell you!” the soldier repeated sternly. “You want me to tell you whether the miller is a good man or not. Every man’s good in my opinion. I’ve eaten bread from many a stove, friend. I wouldn’t even cough where you would die of suffocation. Do you think you’ve struck a fool in me?”

“Splendid! Splendid! Give it to him hard!” the miller said to himself, dancing with joy. “My name isn’t Philip the miller if the devil doesn’t look more foolish than a sheep before half an hour is over! I read so fast in church that no one can understand me, but he talks quietly, and yet just listen to what he is saying!”

And in fact the poor devil was scratching his head so hard that he was nearly knocking his hat off.

“Hold on, soldier!” he exclaimed. “You and I seem to run on and on and never get anywhere. We’re all tangled up.”

“I don’t know about you, but there’s no tangle I can’t get out of.”

“But look here; I asked you whether the miller was a good man or not, and see where you’ve led me!”

“Then let me ask you a question: is water good or not?”

“Water? What’s the matter with water?”

“But if there was kvass[J] about you would turn up your nose at water, wouldn’t you? Water would seem tasteless, then, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes, perhaps it would.”

“And if there was beer on the table you wouldn’t drink kvass, would you?”

“No, certainly not.”

“And if some one brought you a mug of gorelka you wouldn’t look at beer, eh?”

“You’re quite right.”

“Very well then, you see!”

The devil broke out into a sweat, and the tail hanging out from under his coat beat the ground till it actually raised a cloud of dust from the dam. The soldier threw the stick with his boots on it over his shoulder and was preparing to take his departure when the devil thought of a way he might catch him. He stepped a few steps to one side, and said:

“Well,—go along, go along! I shall wait here a little while longer in case Kharko the soldier should happen to come by.”

The soldier stopped.

“What do you want with him?”

“Nothing much, but they tell me that Kharko is a bright fellow and that he knows a thing or two! I thought at first you were he. But now I see I was wrong. One simply goes round and round in a circle with you, and can’t get going to save one’s life.”

The soldier set down his boots.

“Come on, ask me another question!”

“Oh, what’s the use?”

“Try!”

“Very well, then: tell me, whom did you like the best, Yankel the inn-keeper, or the miller?”

“Why didn’t you ask me that at once? I don’t like people that hunt for their beards alongside their noses. Some people would rather walk ten versts through the fields than go one verst by the straight road. But I’ll answer you straight to the point, as they say. Yankel kept one inn, but the miller keeps two.”

“Oh, hang him, he needn’t have said that!” thought the miller, miserably. “It would have been ever so much better if he hadn’t referred to it.”

But the soldier continued:

“When I worked for Yankel, I wore bast shoes, now I wear boots!”

“From where did you get them?”

“From where, eh? Our business is like a well with two buckets. One bucket fills and the other grows empty. One goes up and the other goes down. I used to wear bast shoes; now I wear boots. Opanas used to wear boots; now he goes barefoot because he’s a fool. The bucket comes to the wise man full and goes away empty. Now do you understand?”

The devil listened attentively, and said:

“Wait a minute! At last we seem to be getting somewhere!”

“But I’ve been telling you the same thing all along. If you call Yankel kvass, then the miller is beer; but if you were to give me a glass of good vodka, I should let the beer alone.”

The tip of the devil’s tail skipped about so madly on the sand that Kharko noticed it at last. He blew a puff of smoke right into the devil’s face, and put his foot on the tail as if by accident. The devil jumped, and yelped like a great dog. Both he and Kharko took fright; they opened their eyes wide, and stood for half a minute staring at one another without saying a word.

At last Kharko whistled in that insolent way of his, and said:

“Ah, ha! ah, ha! So that’s the game, is it?”

“And what did you think?” asked the devil.

“Now I know the kind of a queer bird you are!”

“I’m what you see I am.”

“Then you’re the one who—last year—?”

“Of course.”

“And you’re—after him?”

“You’re right. And what do you think of my plan?”

Kharko stretched his limbs, blew a puff of smoke, and answered:

“Take him! I won’t cry over him. I’m a poor man. It’s none of my business. I’ll sit in the inn smoking my pipe till a third one comes along.”

Once more the devil roared with laughter, but the soldier only slung his boots across his back and walked rapidly away. As he passed the sycamore tree the miller heard him muttering to himself:

“So that’s the game, is it? He’s carried off one and now he’s come back for the other. Well, it’s none of my business. When the devil got the Jew the miller got the goods. Now he’s come for the miller and the goods will be mine. A soldier is his own master. Now that I’ve the business in my own hands, let’s see if I can’t keep it. I’ll not be poor Kharko any longer, but Mr. Khariton Tregubov. Only I’m not a fool. No temptation on earth will ever take me on to this dam at night.”

And with that he began climbing the hill.

The miller stared from side to side. Who would help him now? Not a soul was in sight. Darkness was falling; a frog was croaking sleepily in the mud; a bittern was booming angrily in the reeds. The edge of the moon was peeping over the woods as if asking: “What will become of Philip the miller now?”

It looked at him, winked, and set behind the trees.

The devil stood on the dam holding his sides with laughter. His shouts of merriment shook the floury dust out of every cranny in the old mill; all the spirits of the forest and pond awoke and came flitting toward him, some floating like shadows out of the wood, some hanging like filmy clouds over the water. The pond stirred, streaks of swirling white vapour rose from it, and ripples ran in circles across its surface. The miller gave it one look, and his blood ran cold: a blue face with dull, staring eyes was glaring up at him out of the water, its long whiskers waving like the antennæ of a water-beetle. Who could it be but his uncle, rising from the pond and coming straight toward the sycamore tree?

Yankel the Jew had long since crept silently out on to the dam, picked up the clothes which the devil had discarded, slipped across to the sycamore tree, and hastily tied up his bundle. There was no more mention of losses now; any man would have been afraid to mention them, I can tell you! Losses be hanged! Yankel hoisted his bundle on to his back and shuffled quietly away, following the others along the path that led from the mill to the village.

The miller made a rush for his mill; once there, at least he would be able to lock himself in or else wake his workman! But he had hardly quitted his tree before the devil jumped after him. Philip dashed into the mill, slammed the door, rushed into his room, hurriedly lit a light, and fell down on the floor screaming with might and main, just like—what do you think?—the Jews in their synagogue!

And the devil circled over the mill, stuck his inquisitive nose in at the window, and couldn’t make out how to get at the tempting morsel before him.

Suddenly, bang! Something dropped to the floor with a thump as if a huge cat had jumped into the room. That confounded devil had come down the chimney! The fiend sprang to his feet, and next instant the miller felt him sitting on his back, digging his claws into his flesh.

What could he do?

Suddenly, another bang! Darkness fell, and the devil was dragging the miller through a black, narrow hole. The miller smelt clay, clouds of soot rose about him, and all at once he saw lying below him the chimney and the roof of the mill, growing smaller and smaller every second, as if they and the dam and the sycamore trees and the pond were falling into a bottomless pit. And there lay the sky, reflected upside-down in the calm mill-pond spread out below them as smooth as a platter, and in it the peaceful stars were twinkling as they had always twinkled before. And the miller saw flying across those dark blue depths a form that looked first like a hawk, and then like a crow, and then like a sparrow, and then like a large fly.

“He is taking me ever so high!” thought the miller. “There go your profits for you, Philipko, and your inns, and all your fine show! Is there no Christian soul who will call to him: Drop it, it is mine?”

But Christian soul there was none! Below him slept the mill, and out of the pond the monstrous face of his uncle alone was glaring at him with glassy eyes, laughing to itself and waving its whiskers.

Farther on the Jew was still crawling up the hill, stooping under his heavy white bundle. Half way up the ascent stood Kharko, shading his eyes with his hand and gazing up at the sky.

The scattered band of girls had overtaken Opanas and his oxen. They were flying along like lunatics and Opanas was staring straight up at the sky as he lay in his cart. Though his heart was kind, his eyes were blind with vodka, and his tongue was as heavy as lead. There was no one, no one, who would cry: Drop it, it is mine!

And there lay the village. There was the tavern, closed for the night; there stood the sleeping cottages, and there lay the gardens. There, too, stood the tall poplar tree and the widow’s little khata. Old Prisia and her daughter were sitting on a bench at the door, weeping and embracing one another. And why were they weeping? Was it because next day the miller was going to drive them out of their native hut?

The miller’s heart leaped. At least these two might give him a kind thought! He plucked up courage and shouted:

“Don’t cry, Galya; don’t cry, little sweetheart! I’ll forgive you all your debts and the interest, too! Oh, I’m in trouble, in worse trouble than you are. The Evil One is carrying me away as a spider carries a little fly.”

Tender and sensitive is the heart of a girl! It did not seem possible that Galya could have heard the miller’s cry from such a great distance, but she shuddered nevertheless, and raised her dark, weeping eyes to heaven.

“Farewell, farewell, my beautiful black eyes,” the miller sighed, and at that instant he saw the girl’s hands clutch her breast and heard her rend the air with a piercing scream:

“Drop it, foul fiend! Drop it, it is mine!”

The sound tore at the devil’s ears like the mighty swing of a brandished chain. His wings fluttered feebly, his claws relaxed their hold, and Philip floated down like a feather, turning from side to side.

The devil dropped after him like a stone. But as soon as he reached him and grabbed him afresh, Galya shouted again:

“Drop it, accursed one, it is mine!”

The devil dropped the miller, and once more the poor man floated downward. So it happened three times, while the marsh lying between the mill and the village spread ever wider and wider beneath them.

Splash! The miller fell into the soft mud with such a bump that the bog bounced as if it had been on springs, and threw the miller ten feet into the air. He fell down again, jumped up, and took to his heels helter-skelter as fast as his legs could carry him. As he ran he screamed at the top of his lungs, feeling every second that the devil was going to grab him.

He reached the first hut on the outskirts of the village, flew the hedge at a bound, and found himself in the middle of the widow’s cottage. Here he came to his senses for the first time.

“Well, I am in your cottage, thank God!” he said.

Just think of it, good people, what a prank he had played! There he was early in the morning, before sunrise, before even the cows had been driven out to pasture, bareheaded, barefooted, in rags, plunging into the hut of two unmarried women, a widow and a young girl! Yes, and the fact that he was hatless was a small matter; it was lucky indeed he hadn’t lost something else on the way; if he had, he would have disgraced the poor women forever! And on top of it all what did he say? “Thank God, I am in your cottage!”

The old woman could only wave her arms, but Galya jumped up in her nightgown from a bench, threw on a dress, and cried to the miller:

“What are you doing here, you wicked man? Are you so drunk that you can’t find your own hut, and so come rushing into ours, hey?”

But the miller stood in front of her looking at her with gentle if slightly staring eyes, and said:

“Come on, hit me as hard as you can!”

And she hit him once: bang!

“Hit me again!”

So she hit him again.

“That’s right. Do you want to hit me any more?”

So she hit him a third time. Then, when she saw that not only did he not mind, but stood there looking at her with gentle eyes, she threw up her hands and burst into tears.

“Oi, misery me, poor orphan that I am, who will come to my help? Oi, what a man this is! Isn’t it enough for him that he has deceived a young girl like me, and that he wants to turn Turk, and has made every one gossip about me, and disgraced me before the whole village? Look at him, look at him, good people! I have hit him three times and he won’t even turn away. Oi, what can I do with a man like him, tell me, somebody, do!”

But the miller asked:

“Are you going to hit me again or not? Tell me truly. If you aren’t, I’m going to sit down on that bench, because I’m tired.”

Galya’s hands were approaching the miller again, but the old woman guessed there was something out of the ordinary about the business, and said to her daughter:

“Wait a bit, child! Why do you go on slapping the man’s neck without even stopping to ask him a question? Can’t you see that the lad’s a little bit off his head? Tell me, neighbour, where did you come from so suddenly, and what do you mean by saying: Thank God I am in your cottage, when you know you oughtn’t to be here at all?”

The miller rubbed his eyes and said:

“Tell me the honest truth, Auntie, am I asleep? Am I still alive? Has one night or one year passed since yesterday evening? And did I come here from the mill or did I drop from the sky?”

“Tut, tut, man! Cross yourself with your left hand! What nonsense you’re talking. You must have been dreaming!”

“I don’t know, good mother, I don’t know. I can’t make head or tail of it myself.”

He was about to sit down on a bench, when he caught sight through the window of Yankel the inn-keeper, crawling along with a huge bundle on his back. The miller jumped up, pointed toward the window, and asked the two women:

“Who is that walking along there?”

“Why, that’s our Yankel!”

“And what is he carrying?”

“A bundle from the city.”

“Then why do you say I’ve been dreaming? Don’t you see that the Jew has come back? I saw him at the mill a moment ago, carrying that very same bundle.”

“And why shouldn’t he have come back?”

“Because the devil carried him off last year. Khapun, you know.”

Well, in a word, there was a great deal of amazement when the miller told of all that had happened to him. And in the meanwhile a crowd was beginning to collect in the road in front of the cottage; the people looked in at the window, and began making slanderous comments.

“Look at that!” they said. “There’s a nice state of affairs! The miller comes tearing across the fields without a hat, without boots, all ragged and torn, and runs straight into the widow’s cottage, and there he sits with them now!”

“Hey! Tell us, good man, whom have you come to see all dressed up like that? Is it Old Prisia, or young Galya?”

You will agree, I am sure, that no one can allow a poor girl to be gossiped about like that. The miller was simply obliged to marry her. But Philip has confessed to me many a time himself that he had always loved the widow’s Galya, and that after the night when she rescued him from the foul fiend’s clutches, she grew so dear to him that he wouldn’t have let himself be driven away from her with a stick.

They are living at the mill now, and already have several children. The miller has forgotten his inn and no longer lends money at interest. And whenever a voice in his heart whispers to him to wish Yankel the Jew out of the village to the devil, he only makes a contemptuous gesture.

“And the inn?” He used sometimes to ask people after his adventure. “Will it still remain?”

“Of course the inn will remain. What should become of it?”

“But who will keep it? Perhaps you are thinking of doing it yourself?”

“Yes, perhaps I am.”

And at that the miller would only whistle.

XI

Yes, that is the adventure that befell the miller. Such a strange adventure it was that to this day no one has decided whether it really happened or not. If you say it was all a falsehood, I can answer that the miller was not a man to tell lies. Then, Gavrilo the workman is still living at the mill, and though he confesses himself that he was thoroughly drunk that night, he remembers clearly that the miller opened the door for him, and that his master’s face was whiter than flour. And Yankel came back at dawn, and Opanas reached home drunk and without his boots, so it seems as if the miller could not really have dreamt it after all.

But then, again, take this: how could it be true, when the whole affair would have taken a year to happen and yet the miller ran barefoot into Galya’s cottage the very next morning? A great many people actually saw him, and wondered why the miller was tearing barefoot across the fields to visit the girl.

The best plan, I think, is not to look too closely into the story. Whether it happened or whether it didn’t, I’ll give you a piece of advice. If you know a miller, or any man who keeps two taverns and who abuses the Jews and yet fleeces the people like sheep, tell your friend this story. I recommend it to you; the plan has been tried. Whether he gives up his business or not, he will at least bring you a mugful of vodka that, for once, won’t be diluted with water.

There are people, of course, and this too has been found to be true, who will growl at you like dogs as soon as you tell them the story. People like them I answer with these words: Grumble and growl as much as you like, but I give you fair warning: take care the same thing doesn’t happen to you!

And I say this because, you see, the people of Novokamensk have more than once seen that very same devil again. Ever since he has had a taste of the miller, he doesn’t want to go home without some dainty morsel. So he flies about, peering in every direction like a lost bird.

Therefore, take care, good people, that something evil doesn’t befall you.

And now, good-bye! If I haven’t told the story to suit your taste, don’t think ill of me, I’m only a plain man.

FOOTNOTES: