snapped in his heart. He peered carefully but vainly into the green thicket and then turned to the old man.

Daddy Eroshka with his gun pressed to his breast stood motionless; his cap was thrust backwards, his eyes gleamed with an unwonted glow, and his open mouth, with its worn yellow teeth, seemed to have stiffened in that position.

‘A homed stag!’ he muttered, and throwing down his gun in despair he began pulling at his grey beard, ‘Here it stood. We should have come round by the path.... Fool! fool!’ and he gave his beard an angry tug. Fool! Pig!’ he repeated, pulling painfully at his own beard. Through the forest something seemed to fly away in the mist, and ever farther and farther off was heard the sound of the flight of the stag.