lighting up his way, and stepped out, strong and bold as a lion, so that
when the rising sun shed its moist rosy light upon the still fresh and
unwearied traveller, already thirty miles lay between him and Moscow.

In a couple of days he was at home, in his little hut, to the great
astonishment of the soldier's wife who had been put in there. After
praying before the holy pictures, he set off at once to the village
elder. The village elder was at first surprised; but the hay-cutting had
just begun; Gerasim was a first-rate mower, and they put a scythe into
his hand on the spot, and he went to mow in his old way, mowing so that
the peasants were fairly astounded as they watched his wide sweeping
strokes and the heaps he raked together. . . .

In Moscow the day after Gerasim's flight they missed him. They went to
his garret, rummaged about in it, and spoke to Gavrila. He came, looked,
shrugged his shoulders, and decided that the dumb man had either run
away or had drowned himself with his stupid dog. They gave information
to the police, and informed the lady. The old lady was furious, burst
into tears, gave orders that he was to be found whatever happened,
declared she had never ordered the dog to be destroyed, and, in fact,
gave Gavrila such a rating that he could do nothing all day but shake
his head and murmur, "Well!" until Uncle Tail checked him at last,
sympathetically echoing "We-ell!" At last the news came from the country
of Gerasim's being there. The old lady was somewhat pacified; at first
she issued a mandate for him to be brought back without delay to Moscow;
afterwards, however, she declared that such an ungrateful creature was
absolutely of no use to her. Soon after this she died herself; and her
heirs had no thought to spare for Gerasim; they let their mother's other
servants redeem their freedom on payment of an annual rent.