onless,
and sniffing last year's dry grass. On a hillock beside the roadside
a red-haired Cossack was sitting doubled up, looking at his feet.

"Christ is risen!" Maxim shouted to him. "Wo-o-o!"

"Truly He is risen," answered the Cossack, without raising his head.

"Where are you going?"

"Home on leave."

"Why are you sitting here, then?"

"Why . . . I have fallen ill . . . I haven't the strength to go
on."

"What is wrong?"

"I ache all over."

"H'm. What a misfortune! People are keeping holiday, and you fall
sick! But you should ride on to a village or an inn, what's the use
of sitting here!"

The Cossack raised his head, and with big, exhausted eyes, scanned
Maxim, his wife, and the horse.

"Have you come from church?" he asked.

"Yes."

"The holiday found me on the high road. It was not God's will for
me to reach home. I'd get on my horse at once and ride off, but I
haven't the strength. . . . You might, good Christians, give a
wayfarer some Easter cake to break his fast!"

"Easter cake?" Tortchakov repeated, "That we can, to be sure. . . .
Stay, I'll. . . ."

Maxim fumbled quickly in his pockets, glanced at his wife, and said:

"I haven't a knife, nothing to cut it with. And I don't like to
break it, it would spoil the whole cake. There's a problem! You
look and see if you haven't a knife?"

The Cossack got up groaning, and went to his saddle to get a knife.

"What an idea," said Tortchakov's wife angrily. "I won't let you
slice up the Easter cake! What should I look like, taking it home
already cut! Ride on to the peasants in the village, and break your
fast there!"

The wife took the napkin with the Easter cake in it out of her
husband's hands and said:

"I won't allow it! One must do things properly; it's not a loaf,
but a holy Easter cake. And it's a sin to cut it just anyhow."

"Well, Cossack, don't be angry," laughed Tortchakov. "The wife
forbids it! Good-bye. Good luck on your journey!"

Maxim shook the reins, clicked to his horse, and the chaise rolled
on squeaking. For some time his wife went on grumbling, and declaring
that to cut the Easter cake before reaching home was a sin and not
the proper thing. In the east the first rays of the rising sun shone
out, cutting their way through the feathery clouds, and the song
of the lark was heard in the sky. Now not one but three kites were
hovering over the steppe at a respectful distance from one another.
Grasshoppers began churr