rode. Their paternal farm seemed to have sunk into the earth. All that
was visible above the surface were the two chimneys of their modest
hut and the tops of the trees up whose trunks they had been used to
climb like squirrels. Before them still stretched the field by which
they could recall the whole story of their lives, from the years when
they rolled in its dewy grass down to the years when they awaited in
it the dark-browed Cossack maiden, running timidly across it on quick
young feet. There is the pole above the well, with the waggon wheel
fastened to its top, rising solitary against the sky; already the
level which they have traversed appears a hill in the distance, and
now all has disappeared. Farewell, childhood, games, all, all,
farewell!



CHAPTER II

All three horsemen rode in silence. Old Taras's thoughts were far
away: before him passed his youth, his years--the swift-flying years,
over which the Cossack always weeps, wishing that his life might be
all youth. He wondered whom of his former comrades he should meet at
the Setch. He reckoned up how many had already died, how many were
still alive. Tears formed slowly in his eyes, and his grey head bent
sadly.

His sons were occupied with other thoughts. But we must speak further
of his sons. They had been sent, when twelve years old, to the academy
at Kief, because all leaders of that day considered it indispensable
to give their children an education, although it was afterwards
utterly forgotten. Like all who entered the academy, they were wild,