closed as though they were sick. If they looked at you, it was
without any curiosity or eagerness. How pitiful the indifference of the
children was!

Sometimes the carts were covered with faded cloth stretched over rounded
frameworks like gypsy-wagons. There, the old _babas_ sat on the front
seats, eyes like black shoe-buttons, with their lives almost finished.
They seemed the least affected by the misery and change. They occupied
the most comfortable places, and held the bright-colored ikons in their
arms--the most precious possession of a Russian home. Perhaps a dog was
tied under the wagon, or a young colt trotted along by its mother's
side.

It was as though there had been a great fire, and every one had caught
up what he could to save from destruction: homes broken into little bits
to be put together again in a strange land.

An open cart broke down in front of us. The woman got out to help her
husband. She had a round, pock-marked face, as expressionless as wood.
She wore a bright shawl over her hair, and a long sheepskin coat, with
the sleeves and pockets beautifully embroidered in colors. It was dirty,
now, but indicated she had been well-to-do once. She limped badly.

"Good-evening," I said.

"Good-evening, excellency," she replied civilly.

"Are you hurt?" I asked.

"My feet are blistered from the walking," she replied. "I take turns
with my husband."

"Where are you from?"

"Rovno."

"How long have you been on the way?"

"Many weeks. Who knows how long?"

"And where are you going?"

"Where the others go. Somewhere into the interior."

The procession had not halted, but, turning out for the broken-down
cart, continued uninterruptedly down the hill. Every now and then the
peasant looked up anxiously.

"We must hurry. We mustn't be left behind," he muttered.

"What do you eat?" I asked the woman.

"What we can find. Sometimes we get food at the relief stations, or we
get it along the way."

"Do the villages you pass through help you?" I persisted.

"They do what they can. But there are so many of us."

"Can't you find cabbages and potatoes in the fields?" I asked.

The woman looked at me suspiciously for a moment, and did not reply.

"Why do you want to know these things?" she asked, after a silence.
"What business is it of yours?"

"I want to help you."

"Help us." She shook her head. "But I'll tell you," she said. "I did
take some potatoes once. It was before the cold weather.