short time before, was already nearly rebuilt, thanks to
the ready-made houses supplied by the novel wood-yards of Samara.

The butler had been dispatched on the previous evening, with a
wagon-load of provisions and comforts, and with orders to make the
necessary arrangements for a boat and crew with fisherman Piotr. But,
for reasons which seemed too voluble and complicated for adequate
expression, Piotr had been as slow of movement as my bumptious
_yamtschik_ of the posting-station, and nothing was ready. Piotr, like
many elderly peasants, might sit for the portrait of his apostolic
namesake. But he approved of more wine "for the stomach's sake" than any
apostle ever ventured to recommend, and he had ingenious methods of
securing it. For example, when he brought crayfish to the house, he
improved the opportunity. The fishermen scorn these dainties, and throw
them out of the nets. The fact that they were specially ordered was
sufficient hint to Piotr. He habitually concealed them in the steward's
hemp patch or some other handy nook, and presented himself to our host
with the announcement that he would produce them when he was paid his
"tea-money" in advance, in the shape of a glass of _vodka_. The swap
always took place.

In spite of this weakness, Piotr was a very well-to-do peasant. We
inspected his establishment and tasted his cream, while he was
exhausting his stock of language. His house was like all others of that
region in plan, and everything was clean and orderly. It had an air
about it as if no one ever ate or really did any work there, which was
decidedly deceptive, and his living-room contained the nearest approach
to a bed and bedding which we had seen: a platform supported by two legs
and the wall, and spread with a small piece of heavy gray and black
felt.

Finding that Piotr's eloquence had received lengthy inspiration, we bore
him off, in the middle of his peroration, to the river, where we took
possession of a boat with a chronic leak, and a prow the exact shape of
a sterlet's nose reversed. But Piotr swore that it was the stanchest
craft between Astrakhan and Rybinsk, and intrepidly took command,
steering with a long paddle, while four alert young peasants plied the
oars. Piotr's costume consisted of a cotton shirt and brief trousers.
The others added caps, which, however, they wore only spasmodically.

A picnic without singing was not to be thought of, and we requested the
men to favor us with s