His mother gave him her blessing, and then he sloped a sickle over his shoulders like a sword, and, tying the blunt blade of an old scythe to his wrist, mounted his old horse and rode away.
Foma went on and on until he came to an unknown part, where, in the middle of a broad road, stood a sign-post with nothing on it. He rode up; he had neither gold nor silver, but he happened to have some chalk in his pocket, so he wrote with this chalk,—
"The mighty Foma Berennekoff, who with one blow killed twelve powerful heroes, and an endless number of small giants, rode by here."
When he had finished writing this, he rode on farther.
Riding along the very same road came a handsome young fellow, Elie Muromitch by name, and stopping at the sign-post read what was written on it, and said to himself,—
"That, certainly, was a very heroic action; but whoever this wonderful man is he did not waste his gold and silver to write with, but only used plain chalk!"
And he wrote underneath in silver,—
"After Foma Berennekoff rode the valiant Elie Muromitch!"
He then overtook Foma, and addressed him thus,—
"Powerful hero, Foma Berennekoff! tell me where I am to ride. Shall I pass in front of you or keep behind?"
"Better keep behind!" said Foma.
A little later there came riding along the road a rich and handsome youth, called Aleyosha Papovitch,
R 2
