an accordion in his hand, and relates to them in a half-whisper how he is about to be elected Elder, and what mad pranks he will play in that capacity.  When one of the girls happens to laugh outright, the matrons who are standing near turn round and scowl; and one of them, stepping forward, orders the offender, in a tone of authority, to go home at once if she cannot behave herself.  Crestfallen, the culprit retires, and the youth who is the cause of the merriment makes the incident the subject of a new joke.  Meanwhile the deliberations have begun.  The majority of the members are chatting together, or looking at a little group composed of three peasants and a woman, who are standing a little apart from the others.  Here alone the matter in hand is being really discussed.  The woman is explaining, with tears in her eyes, and with a vast amount of useless repetition, that her “old man,” who is Elder for the time being, is very ill, and cannot fulfil his duties.

“But he has not yet served a year, and he’ll get better,” remarks one peasant, evidently the youngest of the little group.

“Who knows?” replies the woman, sobbing.  “It is the will of God, but I don’t believe that he’ll ever put his foot to the ground again.  The Feldsher has been four times to see him, and the doctor himself came once, and said that he must be brought to the hospital.”

“And why has he not been taken there?”

“How could he be taken?  Who is to carry him?  Do you think he’s a baby?  The hospital is forty versts off.  If you put him in a cart he would die before he had gone a verst.  And then, who knows what they do with people in the hospital?” This last question contained probably the true reason why the doctor’s orders had been disobeyed.

“Very well, that’s enough; hold your tongue,” says the grey-beard of the little group to the woman; and then, turning to the other peasants, remarks, “There is nothing to be done.  The Stanovoi [officer of rural police] will be here one of these days, and will make a row again if we don’t elect a new Elder.  Whom shall we choose?”

As soon as this question is asked several peasants look down to the ground, or try in some other way to avoid attracting attention, lest their names should be suggested.  When the silence has continued a minute or two, the greybeard says, “There is Alexei Ivanof; he has not served yet!”

“Yes, yes, Alexei Ivanof!” shout half-a-dozen voices, belonging probably to peasants who fear they may be elected.

Alexei protests in the strongest terms.  He cannot say that he is ill, because his big ruddy face would give him the lie direct, but he finds half-a-dozen other reasons why he should not be chosen, and accordingly requests to be excused.  But his protestations are not listened to, and the proceedings terminate.  A new Village Elder has been duly elected.