you."

"What are you talking like that for?"

"Oh, nothing . . . Why, I fancy here's the gate. Yes, it is. Open
it, good man."

The watchman, feeling his way, opens the gate, leads the pilgrim
out by the sleeve, and says:

"Here's the end of the graveyard. Now you must keep on through the
open fields till you get to the main road. Only close here there
will be the boundary ditch--don't fall in. . . . And when you
come out on to the road, turn to the right, and keep on till you
reach the mill. . . ."

"O-o-oh!" sighs the pilgrim after a pause, "and now I am thinking
that I have no cause to go to Mitrievsky Mill. . . . Why the devil
should I go there? I had better stay a bit with you here, sir. . . ."

"What do you want to stay with me for?"

"Oh . . . it's merrier with you! . . . ."

"So you've found a merry companion, have you? You, pilgrim, are
fond of a joke I see. . . ."

"To be sure I am," says the stranger, with a hoarse chuckle. "Ah,
my dear good man, I bet you will remember the pilgrim many a long
year!"

"Why should I remember you?"

"Why I've got round you so smartly. . . . Am I a pilgrim? I am not
a pilgrim at all."

"What are you then?"

"A dead man. . . . I've only just got out of my coffin. . . . Do
you remember Gubaryev, the locksmith, who hanged himself in carnival
week? Well, I am Gubaryev himself! . . ."

"Tell us something else!"

The watchman does not believe him, but he feels all over such a
cold, oppressive terror that he starts off and begins hurriedly
feeling for the gate.

"Stop, where are you off to?" says the stranger, clutching him by
the arm. "Aie, aie, aie . . . what a fellow you are! How can you
leave me all alone?"

"Let go!" cries the watchman, trying to pull his arm away.

"Sto-op! I bid you stop and you stop. Don't struggle, you dirty
dog! If you want to stay among the living, stop and hold your tongue
till I tell you. It's only that I don't care to spill blood or you
would have been a dead man long ago, you scurvy rascal. . . . Stop!"

The watchman's knees give way under him. In his terror he shuts his
eyes, and trembling all over huddles close to the wall. He would
like to call out, but he knows his cries would not reach any living
thing. The stranger stands beside him and holds him by the arm. . . .
Three minutes pass in silence.

"One's in a fever, another's asleep, and the third is seeing pilgrims
on their way," mutters the stranger. "Capital watchmen,