to gleam white in the blue-grey distance, and the trap entered a large village.  The village street was full of people, both Russians and other nationalities, wearing peculiar caps and cloaks.  Tipsy men and women crowded and chattered round booths, traktirs, public houses and carts.  The vicinity of a town was noticeable.  Giving a pull and a lash of the whip to the horse on his right, the driver sat down sideways on the right edge of the scat, so that the reins hung over that side, and with evident desire of showing off, he drove quickly down to the river, which had to be crossed by a ferry.  The raft was coming towards them, and had reached the middle of the river.  About twenty carts were waiting to cross.  Nekhludoff had not long to wait.  The raft, which had been pulled far up the stream, quickly approached the landing, carried by the swift waters.  The tall, silent, broad-shouldered, muscular ferryman, dressed in sheepskins, threw the ropes and moored the raft with practised hand, landed the carts that were on it, and put those that were waiting on the bank on board.  The whole raft was filled with vehicles and horses shuffling at the sight of the water.  The broad, swift river splashed against the sides of the ferryboats, tightening their moorings.

When the raft was full, and Nekhludoff’s cart, with the horses taken out of it, stood closely surrounded by other carts on the side of the raft, the ferryman barred the entrance, and, paying no heed to the prayers of those who had not found room in the raft, unfastened the ropes and set off.

All was quiet on the raft; one could hear nothing but the tramp of the ferryman’s boots and the horses changing from foot to foot.

CHAPTER XXI.

“JUST A WORTHLESS TRAMP.”

Nekhludoff stood on the edge of the raft looking at the broad river.  Two pictures kept rising up in his mind.  One, that of Kryltzoff, unprepared for death and dying, made a heavy, sorrowful impression on him.  The other, that of Katusha, full of energy, having gained the love of such a man as Simonson, and found a true and solid path towards righteousness, should have been pleasant, yet it also created a heavy impression on Nekhludoff’s mind, and he could not conquer this impression.

The vibrating sounds of a big brass bell reached them from the town.  Nekhludoff’s driver, who stood by his side, and the other men on the raft raised their caps and crossed themselves, all except a short, dishevelled old man, who stood close to the railway and whom Nekhludoff had not noticed before.  He did not cross himself, but raised his head and looked at Nekhludoff.  This old man wore a patched coat, cloth trousers and worn and patched shoes.  He had a small wallet on his back, and a high fur cap with the fur much rubbed on his head.

“Why don’t you pray, old chap?” asked Nekhludoff’s driver as he replaced and straightened his cap.  “Are you unbaptized?”