e from.

"To be sure . . . a joyful day to-day. . . ." Ieronim went on in a
weak sighing tenor like the voice of a convalescent. "The sky is
rejoicing and the earth and what is under the earth. All the creatures
are keeping holiday. Only tell me kind sir, why, even in the time
of great rejoicing, a man cannot forget his sorrows?"

I fancied that this unexpected question was to draw me into one of
those endless religious conversations which bored and idle monks
are so fond of. I was not disposed to talk much, and so I only
asked:

"What sorrows have you, father?"

"As a rule only the same as all men, kind sir, but to-day a special
sorrow has happened in the monastery: at mass, during the reading
of the Bible, the monk and deacon Nikolay died."

"Well, it's God's will!" I said, falling into the monastic tone.
"We must all die. To my mind, you ought to rejoice indeed. . . .
They say if anyone dies at Easter he goes straight to the kingdom
of heaven."

"That's true."

We sank into silence. The figure of the peasant in the high hat
melted into the lines of the bank. The tar barrels were flaring up
more and more.

"The Holy Scripture points clearly to the vanity of sorrow and so
does reflection," said Ieronim, breaking the silence, "but why does
the heart grieve and refuse to listen to reason? Why does one want
to weep bitterly?"

Ieronim shrugged his shoulders, turned to me and said quickly:

"If I died, or anyone else, it would not be worth notice perhaps;
but, you see, Nikolay is dead! No one else but Nikolay! Indeed,
it's hard to believe that he is no more! I stand here on my ferry-boat
and every minute I keep fancying that he will lift up his voice
from the bank. He always used to come to the bank and call to me
that I might not be afraid on the ferry. He used to get up from his
bed at night on purpose for that. He was a kind soul. My God! how
kindly and gracious! Many a mother is not so good to her child as
Nikolay was to me! Lord, save his soul!"

Ieronim took hold of the rope, but turned to me again at once.

"And such a lofty intelligence, your honour," he said in a vibrating
voice. "Such a sweet and harmonious tongue! Just as they will sing
immediately at early matins: 'Oh lovely! oh sweet is Thy Voice!'
Besides all other human qualities, he had, too, an extraordinary
gift!"

"What gift?" I asked.

The monk scrutinized me, and as though he had convinced himself
that he could trust me with a secr