'No one can escape his fate,' he replied coldly.
'But you were born to happiness, Seltichan! Does not the God love you? When whole herds were dying everywhere, did you not merely lose a young calf?'
Again a cloud came over the old man's face.
'He loves me because I keep the ancient customs. My welfare does not spring from human tears, but the mountains, the rocks, the woods, and water bring it me,' the old man remarked drily.
His hearers caught up his words.
'Yes, indeed! Your hand was open; you supported your people in the day of disaster, and shared in it.'
'Yet who can help more easily than you?' said the Kniaź. 'What can I give, for example, I, who have only goods for sale, and debts? Should I distribute my debts in these hard times? It is true, I have nothing against that! Yet I too am a Tungus;—what would anyone gain from my accursed debts? They don't breed reindeer,' he ended, laughing.
'Yes, indeed! We should die without you, Seltichan! Who supports us? Whose herds are larger than yours? Who has a better heart? What family is more distinguished and richer? Whose sons are more skilled shots, and finer huntsmen? Whose daughters, when grown-up, most attract our youths? Are you not the first among us,—you who neither suffer nor fear, never lie, and never deceive as we do, and bow to your fate? You, Seltichan! And to whom shall we go, if you will not have pity on us?' came from all sides.
'The God knows, I will share with you! That is why I am here!' the old man answered, touched.
'Tumara! Tumara!' the Kniaź cried, seeking the story-teller, 'finish your tale. You will see, Seltichan, what happens later.'