w there to be beautiful plots of land for the
asking. You yourself can see how good the land hereabout is. Well,
there land better still is to be obtained."

"Liar!"

"More softly, more softly!" again urges the woman. "Moreover, I am not
bad-looking, and can manage things well, and do any sort of work. Hence
you and I might live quite peacefully and happily, and come,
eventually, to have a place of our own. Yes, and I could bear and rear
you a child. Only see how fit I am. Only feel this breast of mine."

The young fellow snorts, and I begin to find the situation oppressive,
and to long to let the couple know that I am not asleep. Curiosity,
however, prevents me, and I continue listening to the strange,
arresting dialogue.

"Wait a little," whispers the woman with a gasp. "Do not play with me,
for I am not that sort of woman. Yes, I mean what I say. Let be!"

Rudely, roughly the young fellow replies:

"Then don't run after me. A woman who runs after a man, and plays the
whore with him, is--"

"Less noise, please--less noise, I beg of you, or we shall be heard,
and I shall be put to shame!"

"Doesn't it put you to shame to be offering yourself to me like this?"

A silence ensues, save that the young fellow goes on snorting and
fidgeting, and the raindrops continue to fall with the same reluctance,
the same indolence, as ever. Then once more the woman's voice is heard
through the pattering.

"Perhaps," says the voice, "you have guessed that I am seeking a
husband? Yes, I AM seeking one--a good, steady muzhik."

"But I am NOT a good, steady muzhik."

"Fie, fie!"

"What?" he sniggers. "A husband for you? The impudence of you! A
'husband'! Go along!"

"Listen to me. I am tired of tramping."

"Then go home."

This time there ensues a long pause. Then the woman says very softly:

"I have neither home nor kindred."

"A lie!" ejaculates the young fellow.

"No, by God it is not a lie! The Mother of God forget me if it is."

In these last words I can detect the note of tears. By this time the
situation has become intolerable, for I am yearning to rise and kick
the young fellow out of the hut, and then to have a long and earnest
talk with his companion. "Oh that I could take her to my arms," I
reflect, "and cherish her as I would a poor lost child!"

After a while the sounds of a new struggle between the pair are heard.

"Don't put me off like that!" growls the young fellow.

"And don't you make any at