15. The Meeting of Friends

But this “Ah!” full of joy, what could have drawn it from Maroussia? What treasure had she seen in this broken well? Nothing, absolutely nothing, unless it was a wreath of lovely violet flowers hung on the side of the well, the flowers which in Maroussia’s home were thought to be flowers of good omen, and the very same which she had grown so lovingly in her mother’s garden. This wreath had been put there recently by some friendly hand; it could not have come of itself. It said to Maroussia: “Everything is well with those whom you love, their thoughts follow you everywhere.” To Tchetchevik it said: “Your orders have been executed.”

Maroussia and her good friend understood one another, and talked about other things. Not a word concerning the little wreath was exchanged between them. Then they talked of Batourine.

“Is Batourine a large city?” asked Maroussia.

“Yes, but we can find our way through it, all the same,” Tchetchevik answered.

The supper was finished.

“Well, then, Maroussia, have you regained your strength?”

She was already on her feet, she had fastened her little bag on her shoulders, and her eyes, which were fixed on her good friend, shone like stars. What did they ask him?

Before leaving the spot, Tchetchevik put his cane with the bent handle into the well, and drew out the little wreath. It was decidedly wet. He shook it until all the pearls of water dropped from it, then placed it on Maroussia’s head.

“What a dear little wreath!” she said.

“Do you really wish it to remain where you have put it?”

“Certainly,” answered Tchetchevik. “It is very becoming to you. You look like a little fairy.”

Maroussia clapped her hands. This was her greatest sign of joy.

Then they started again on their way, refreshed and courageous.

“Before the evening star appears above the horizon, we shall be at the tomb of Naddniprovka,” Tchetchevik said to the child.

These tombs, or rather, as they are called in the language of the country, kourganes, are hills of a peculiar form which are found in Ukraine. They cover, if the tradition is true, the bodies of those who have died for their country. And it is true, that when workmen disturb them, either with the plowshare or the pitchfork, they find weapons, rings and ornaments buried in them.