“There once lived in Russia a man called Daniel Philipovitch,” began Yemelian with a smile, “he read all the books, and finding little good in them, he gathered them all together in a bag and threw them into the Volga. Salvation lies neither in the old nor in the new books, but in
The Golden Book,
The Book of Life,
The Book of the Dove,
The Holy Ghost Himself.”
the last words he sang in the same rhythm Mitka used for his strange songs.
“Where is that book?” asked Tichon in a shy eager voice.
“There, look!”
He pointed to the sky through the open door.
“That is the book; the Lord God Himself writes upon it with the golden words of eternal life. Having read them, you will fathom all mysteries in heaven and on earth.”