is going the same way."

"What way?"

"To the bad, young man. To ruin, we must suppose... The time has come
for God's world to perish."

The old man put on his cap and began gazing at the sky.

"It's a pity," he sighed, after a brief silence. "O God, what a pity! Of
course it is God's will; the world was not created by us, but yet it is
a pity, brother. If a single tree withers away, or let us say a single
cow dies, it makes one sorry, but what will it be, good man, if the
whole world crumbles into dust? Such blessings, Lord Jesus! The sun, and
the sky, and the forest, and the rivers, and the creatures--all these
have been created, adapted, and adjusted to one another. Each has
been put to its appointed task and knows its place. And all that must
perish."

A mournful smile gleamed on the shepherd's face, and his eyelids
quivered.

"You say--the world is perishing," said Meliton, pondering. "It may be
that the end of the world is near at hand, but you can't judge by the
birds. I don't think the birds can be taken as a sign."

"Not the birds only," said the shepherd. "It's the wild beasts, too, and
the cattle, and the bees, and the fish.... If you don't believe me ask
the old people; every old man will tell you that the fish are not at
all what they used to be. In the seas, in the lakes, and in the rivers,
there are fewer fish from year to year. In our Pestchanka, I remember,
pike used to be caught a yard long, and there were eel-pouts, and roach,
and bream, and every fish had a presentable appearance; while nowadays,
if you catch a wretched little pikelet or perch six inches long you
have to be thankful. There are not any gudgeon even worth talking about.
Every year it is worse and worse, and in a little while there will be
no fish at all. And take the rivers now... the rivers are drying up, for
sure."

"It is true; they are drying up."

"To be sure, that's what I say. Every year they are shallower and
shallower, and there are not the deep holes there used to be. And do you
see the bushes yonder?" the old man asked, pointing to one side. "Beyond
them is an old river-bed; it's called a backwater. In my father's time
the Pestchanka flowed there, but now look; where have the evil spirits
taken it to? It changes its course, and, mind you, it will go on
changing till such time as it has dried up altogether. There used to be
marshes and ponds beyond Kurgasovo, and where are they now? And what has
become of the stre