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132
A Day in a Famine-Stricken Village.
waited on; the children ate their thin water-soup and bread.
All night she sat up until the morning broke. Her heart began
to ache, but still she thought, " Perhaps he will come."
In the morning her neighbours came with wailing and
lamentation to console her, but made her only more sorrowful.
Yet she still thought, " Perhaps he has wandered too far, gone
to another village, and was afraid to return home at night.
Maybe he will return about noon, or he will come with some of
the peasants to the village-—it is market day to-day."
People came from all neighbouring villages, but he was not
among them, nor had any one heard of him. She had at last
to acknowledge the terrible fact that Jegor was lost.
So another day passed; a snowstorm raged through the
night. Towards morning the storm ceased, the sky cleared,
and the starosta sent a number of peasants out on the steppe to
search for the lost man.
Full of sad thoughts aroused by this story I go on my way.
The noon bell is ringing. I turn my steps to the izba in which
one of the five free eating-rooms is established. As I enter I
hear the molitva (grace) being sung, and as the door opens,
I catch the words, " Thou precious treasure and giver of life,
come and dwell within us." The last word is slowly sung as
I come in, and I feel somewhat soothed.
The guests salute each other, take their spoons, and sit down
at three tables, set along the walls of the izba at right angles
to each other. There are only forty persons present. The
servers pour the soup into the large wooden bowls, and
distribute equal-sized pieces of bread to each guest. As I look at
them a strange feeling comes over me. On the faces of most
I see satisfaction; in one corner is heard subdued laughing
and jesting. All sit down in quiet orderliness and begin to eat.
Within the izba was a spirit of content; no heartrending
wailing that betrayed hopeless want.
"Here is no famine," I said to myself. "Is it such a simple
thing to satisfy the wants of men, to give them a piece of bread
and a bowl of warm soup—is this all ? Can it possibly be so
simple ? A horse needs 301b., and a man 21b. of bread and
warm soup, and all are happy ! Then why do we not make
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