The Fair at Sorochintsi

XI

For my own corn I have been beaten.

Proverb

“Catch him! catch him!” cried several young men at a narrow street corner, and Cherevik felt himself suddenly seized by strong hands.

“Tie him up! That’s the fellow who stole an honest man’s mare.”

“Damn it! What are you tieing me up for?”

“Imagine his asking! Why did you want to steal a mare from a peasant at the fair, Cherevik?”

“You’re out of your minds, fellows! Who has ever heard of a man stealing from himself?”

“That’s an old trick! An old trick! Why were you running your hardest, as though the devil were on your heels?”

“Anyone would run when the devil’s garment…”

“Aie, my good soul, try that on others! You’ll catch it yet from the court assessor, to teach you to go scaring people with tales of the devil.”

“Catch him! catch him!” came a shout from the other end of the street. “There he is, there is the runaway!”

And Cherevik beheld his friend Tsibulya in the most pitiful plight with his hands tied behind him, led along by several young men.

“Strange things are happening!” said one of them. “You should hear what this scoundrel says! You have only to look at his face to see he is a thief. When we began asking him why he was running like one possessed, he says he put his hand in his pocket and instead of his snuff pulled out a bit of the devil’s jacket and it burst into a red flame—and he took to his heels!”

“Aha! why, these two are birds of a feather! We had better tie them together!”