threw the bags over his shoulder, tucked up the skirts of his coat, took his musket, and then stopped for a moment on the threshold.

‘Good-bye, mother!’ he said as he closed the gate behind him. ‘Send me a small barrel with Nazarka. I promised it to the lads, and he’ll call for it.’

‘May Christ keep you, Lukashka. God be with you!

I’ll send you some, some from the new barrel,’ said the old woman, going to the fence: ‘But listen,’ she added, leaning over the fence.

The Cossack stopped.

‘You’ve been making merry here; well, that’s all right. Why should not a young man amuse himself? God has sent you luck and that’s