"It shone just like a tiny fire. I went nearer. I see what it is: a five-kopeck wax candle fixed on to the cross-piece is burning, and the wind does not put it out. And he is walking along in a new shirt, and ploughing, and singing Easter hymns. He turns round and rattles off the other way, and the light does not go out. He rattles by me, turns the ploughshare round, and still the light does not go out, but keeps on burning."
"Did he say anything?"
"No, he said nothing, only when he saw me he gave me the Easter kiss, and then went on singing."
"And did you say aught to him?"
"I said nothing, but now the muzhiks came up and began laughing at him. 'Go along with thee, Mikhyeich,' they said, 'thou wilt never pray away the sin of ploughing on Easter Day.'"
"And what did he say?"
"He only said, 'Peace on earth, good-will among men.' Then he fell to ploughing again, whipped up the horses, and sang with a soft voice, and the light burns all the time, and does not go out."
The overseer ceased to laugh; he put aside the guitar, bent down his head, and fell a-thinking.
He sat and sat, he drove away the cook and the starosta, went behind the curtains, lay down on his bed, and began to sigh—began to groan like a cart groaning beneath a load of sheaves. His wife came and began to speak to him; he gave her no answer. All he said was: "He has overcome me, it is my turn now."
His wife began to reason with him. "Go now,"
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