Yes, he had been a good priest, but his end had been bad.
One day, when there was no one else at home, the fuddled Father, who was lying alone on the bed, had taken it into his head to smoke. He got up and staggered toward the great, fiercely heated fireplace to light his pipe at the blaze. But he was too drunk, he swayed and fell into the fire. When his family returned, all that remained of the little Father were his feet.
Every one regretted good Father Ivan, but no doctor on earth could have saved him, as only his feet remained. So they buried the feet, and a new priest was appointed to fill the place of Father Ivan.
And now Ivan himself, sound and whole, was standing over Makar, prodding him with his foot.
“Get up, Makar, old man!” he was saying, “and let us be going.”
“Where must I go?” asked Makar with displeasure. He supposed that once dead he ought to lie still, and that there was no need for him now to be wandering about the forest, losing his way. If he had to do that, then why had he died?
“Let us go to the great Toyon.”[C]
“Why should I go to him?” Makar asked.
“He is going to judge you,” answered the priest in a sorrowful, compassionate voice.
Makar recollected that, in fact, one did have to appear at some judgment after one died. He had heard that at church. The priest was right after all; he would have to get up.