curled round and scattered sparks in all directions as though it were
a fountain. And all at once the whole roof burst into bright flame, and
the crackling of the fire was audible.

The light of the moon was dimmed, and the whole village was by now
bathed in a red quivering glow: black shadows moved over the ground,
there was a smell of burning, and those who ran up from below were all
gasping and could not speak for trembling; they jostled against each
other, fell down, and they could hardly see in the unaccustomed
light, and did not recognize each other. It was terrible. What seemed
particularly dreadful was that doves were flying over the fire in the
smoke; and in the tavern, where they did not yet know of the fire,
they were still singing and playing the concertina as though there were
nothing the matter.

"Uncle Semyon's on fire," shouted a loud, coarse voice.

Marya was fussing about round her hut, weeping and wringing her hands,
while her teeth chattered, though the fire was a long way off at the
other end of the village. Nikolay came out in high felt boots, the
children ran out in their little smocks. Near the village constable's
hut an iron sheet was struck. Boom, boom, boom!... floated through the
air, and this repeated, persistent sound sent a pang to the heart and
turned one cold. The old women stood with the holy ikons. Sheep,
calves, cows were driven out of the back-yards into the street; boxes,
sheepskins, tubs were carried out. A black stallion, who was kept apart
from the drove of horses because he kicked and injured them, on being
set free ran once or twice up and down the village, neighing and pawing
the ground; then suddenly stopped short near a cart and began kicking it
with his hind-legs.

They began ringing the bells in the church on the other side of the
river.

Near the burning hut it was hot and so light that one could distinctly
see every blade of grass. Semyon, a red-haired peasant with a long nose,
wearing a reefer-jacket and a cap pulled down right over his ears, sat
on one of the boxes which they had succeeded in bringing out: his wife
was lying on her face, moaning and unconscious. A little old man of
eighty, with a big beard, who looked like a gnome--not one of the
villagers, though obviously connected in some way with the fire--walked
about bareheaded, with a white bundle in his arms. The glare was
reflected on his bald head. The village elder, Antip Syedelnikov, as
swarthy and bl