(_A Russian Legend._)
BY DAVID KER.
"If you want me to tell you any wonderful stories, Barin, such as
_you've_ been telling us," says Ostap Mordenko, shaking his bushy
yellow beard, as he finished his cup of tea, "you're just looking for
corn upon a rock, as the saying is; for _I_ never had an adventure
since the day I was born, except that time when I slipped through a
hole in the ice, last winter. But, perhaps, it will do as well if I
tell you an old tale that I've heard many a time from my grandfather,
that's dead (may the kingdom of heaven be his!), and which will show
you how there may be hope for a man, even when everything seems to be
at the very worst.
"Many, many years ago, there lived in a village on the Don River, a
poor man. When I say he was poor, I don't mean that he had a few holes
in his coat at times, or that he had to go without a dinner every now
and then, for that's what we've all had to do in our time; but it
fairly seemed as if poverty were his brother, and had come to stay with
him for good and all. Many a cold day his stove was unlighted, because
he couldn't afford to buy wood; and he lived on black bread and cold
water from the New Year to the Nativity--it was no good talking to
_him_ about cabbage soup, or salted cucumber, or tea with lemon in
it.
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