the verandah, which was still solid and beautiful; through the glass
doors one could see a room with parquetted floor, probably the
drawing-room; an old-fashioned piano and pictures in deep mahogany
frames--there was nothing else. In the old flower-beds all that
remained were peonies and poppies, which lifted their white and
bright red heads above the grass. Young maples and elms, already
nibbled by the cows, grew beside the paths, drawn up and hindering
each other's growth. The garden was thickly overgrown and seemed
impassable, but this was only near the house where there stood
poplars, fir-trees, and old limetrees, all of the same age, relics
of the former avenues. Further on, beyond them the garden had been
cleared for the sake of hay, and here it was not moist and stuffy,
and there were no spiders' webs in one's mouth and eyes. A light
breeze was blowing. The further one went the more open it was, and
here in the open space were cherries, plums, and spreading apple-trees,
disfigured by props and by canker; and pear-trees so tall that one
could not believe they were pear-trees. This part of the garden was
let to some shopkeepers of the town, and it was protected from
thieves and starlings by a feeble-minded peasant who lived in a
shanty in it.

The garden, growing more and more open, till it became definitely
a meadow, sloped down to the river, which was overgrown with green
weeds and osiers. Near the milldam was the millpond, deep and full
of fish; a little mill with a thatched roof was working away with
a wrathful sound, and frogs croaked furiously. Circles passed from
time to time over the smooth, mirror-like water, and the water-lilies
trembled, stirred by the lively fish. On the further side of the
river was the little village Dubetchnya. The still, blue millpond
was alluring with its promise of coolness and peace. And now all