Russia, he always would
ride up the mounds (he called the mounds so funnily, "hillocks").
Whenever he saw a mound, off he'd gallop. Once he galloped off that way
and rode to the top quite pleased, but a Chechen fired at him and
killed him! Ah, how well they shoot from their gun-rests, those
Chechens! Some of them shoot even better than I do. I don't like it
when a fellow gets killed so foolishly! Sometimes I used to look at
your soldiers and wonder at them. There's foolishness for you! They go,
the poor fellows, all in a clump, and even sew red collars to their
coats! How can they help being hit! One gets killed, they drag him away
and another takes his place! What foolishness!' the old man repeated,
shaking his head. 'Why not scatter, and go one by one? So you just go
like that and they won't notice you. That's what you must do.'

'Well, thank you! Good-bye, Daddy. God willing we may meet again,' said
Olenin, getting up and moving towards the passage.

The old man, who was sitting on the floor, did not rise.

'Is that the way one says "Good-bye"? Fool, fool!' he began. 'Oh dear,
what has come to people? We've kept company, kept company for well-nigh
a year, and now "Good-bye!" and off he goes! Why, I love you, and how I
pity you! You are so forlorn, always alone, always alone. You're
somehow so unsociable. At times I can't sleep for thinking about you. I
am so sorry for you. As the song has it:

"It is very hard, dear brother, In a foreign land to live."

So it is with you.'

'Well, good-bye,' said Olenin again.

The old man rose and held out his hand. Olenin pressed it and turned to
go.

'Give us your mug, your mug!'

And the old man took Olenin by the head with both hands and kissed him
three times with wet moustaches and lips, and began to cry.

'I love you, good-bye!'

Olenin got into the cart.

'Well, is that how you're going? You might give me something for a
remembrance. Give me a gun! What do you want two for?' said the old
man, sobbing quite sincerely.

Olenin got out a musket and gave it to him.

'What a lot you've given the old fellow,' murmured Vanyusha, 'he'll
never have enough! A regular old beggar. They are all such irregular
people,' he remarked, as he wrapped himself in his overcoat and took
his seat on the box.

'Hold your tongue, swine!' exclaimed the old man, laughing. 'What a
stingy fellow!'

Maryanka came out of the cowshed, glanced indifferently at the cart,
bowed and went t