melted into the lines of the bank. The tar barrels were flaring up
more and more.

"The Holy Scripture points clearly to the vanity of sorrow and so
does reflection," said Ieronim, breaking the silence, "but why does
the heart grieve and refuse to listen to reason? Why does one want
to weep bitterly?"

Ieronim shrugged his shoulders, turned to me and said quickly:

"If I died, or anyone else, it would not be worth notice perhaps;
but, you see, Nikolay is dead! No one else but Nikolay! Indeed,
it's hard to believe that he is no more! I stand here on my ferry-boat
and every minute I keep fancying that he will lift up his voice
from the bank. He always used to come to the bank and call to me
that I might not be afraid on the ferry. He used to get up from his
bed at night on purpose for that. He was a kind soul. My God! how
kindly and gracious! Many a mother is not so good to her child as
Nikolay was to me! Lord, save his soul!"

Ieronim took hold of the rope, but turned to me again at once.

"And such a lofty intelligence, your honour," he said in a vibrating
voice. "Such a sweet and harmonious tongue! Just as they will sing
immediately at early matins: 'Oh lovely! oh sweet is Thy Voice!'
Besides all other human qualities, he had, too, an extraordinary
gift!"

"What gift?" I asked.