hiding. When he'd done, Efrem, he says to him: "But d'you know who it
is you've been beating?" The deacon, when he knew him by his voice, was
fairly dumfoundered.

"Well, my good friend," says Efrem, "you won't get off so easily for
this." The deacon fell down at his feet. "Take," says he, "what you
please." "No," says he. "I'll take it from you at my own time and as I
choose." And what do you think? Since that day the deacon's as though
he'd been scalded; he wanders about like a ghost. "It's taken," says
he, "all the heart out of me; it was a dreadful, powerful saying, to be
sure, the brigand fastened upon me." That's how it is with him, with
the deacon.'

'That deacon must be a fool,' I observed.

'A fool? Well, but what do you say to this? There was once an order
issued to seize this fellow, Efrem. We had a police commissary then, a
sharp man. And so a dozen chaps went off into the forest to take Efrem.
They look, and there he is coming to meet them.... One of them shouts,
"Here he is, hold him, tie him!" But Efrem stepped into the forest and
cut himself a branch, two fingers' thickness, like this, and then out
he skips into the road again, looking so frightful, so terrible, and
gives the command like a general at a review: "On your knees!" All of
them fairly fell down. "But who," says he, "shouted hold him, tie him?
You, Seryoga?" The fellow simply jumped up and ran ... and Efrem after
him, and kept swinging his branch at his heels.... For nearly a mile he
stroked him down. And afterwards he never ceased to regret: "Ah," he'd
say, "it is annoying I didn't lay him up for the confession." For it
was just before St. Philip's day. Well, they changed the police
commissary soon after, but it all ended the same way.'