Far away rose a soft murmur. The air hummed
and shook with the roar of distant rapids.
Ivanov leaned against a birch tree, laid his rifle beside him, struck
a match and began to smoke. The flickering light illuminated the
white trunks of the trees, the withered herbage of last year's growth
and a path leading down the embankment. Arina had descended it many
times.
The church bells in the village were ringing for evensong. From the
church precincts twinkled the yellow lights of candles and lanterns,
then there was the hum of people's voices. Many of the lights
dispersed to the right and left, others moved down to the river side.
There was the sound of foot-falls on the bottom of a boat and the
splashing of oars. Someone called out:
"Wai ... ait ... Mitri ... ich!"
There was a clanking of iron--a boat-chain; then stillness. Only the
lights showed that the boat had been launched into the middle of the
river and was floating down stream. Soon the murmur of voices again,
and the plash of oars, and now these sounds were quite close to
Ivanov. One of the men was teasing the girls, the latter laughed at
first, then all at once they were silent.
The boat was made fast to the bridge, the passengers bustling about
for a long time on landing. The ferryman collected his paper roubles,
the men continued merry-making with the girls.
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