Sasha the serf, and other stories of Russian life

AND
OTHER STORIES OF RUSSIAN LIFE.

LONDON: BLACKIE & SON, 49 OLD BAILEY, E.C.; GLASGOW, EDINBURGH, AND DUBLIN.
CONTENTS.

CHAPTER I.
It was towards the close of a September day. Old Gregor and his grandson Sasha were returning home through the forest with their bundles of wood, the old man stooping low under the weight of the heavier pieces he carried, while the boy dragged his great bunch of twigs and splints by a rope drawn over his shoulder. Where the trees grew thick the air was already quite gloomy, but in the open spaces they could see the sky and tell how near it was to sunset.
Both were silent, for they were tired, and it is not easy to talk and carry a heavy load at the same time. But presently something gray appeared through the trees at the foot of a low hill; it was the rock where they always rested on their way home. Old Gregor laid down his bundle there, and wiped his face on the sleeve of his brown jacket, but Sasha sprang upon the rock and began to balance himself upon one foot, as was his habit whenever he tried to think about anything.
Grandfather, he said at last, why should all this forest belong to the baron, and none of it to you?