obliged to take them from one neck to hang them on another.
When Kiriak heard this he began to weep.
"My God," he said, "from whence has this crafty worker come to add to all our trouble. He will drown Christ in His Church in His own blood! Oh, what a misfortune! Have pity, Vladyko,—hasten to ask the bishop to restrain his too faithful servant—to leave something to the Church even if only power for sowing."
"Father Kiriak," I said, "you are talking nonsense, How can I attempt to restrain a man from such praiseworthy zeal?"
"Oh, no, Vladyko," he implored me, "beg him; this is incomprehensible to you, but I understand what is now being done in the desert. All this is not for Christ's sake; but the work done there serves His enemies. He will be drowned. They will drown Him, the little Dove, with blood, and for a hundred years more the people will be frightened away from Him."
Of course, I did not listen to Kiriak, but on the contrary wrote to the neighbouring bishop, asking him to give me his Zyryan to help me, or as the Siberian aristocrats say in French: "au proka."[1] At that time my neighbour had just been rescued from his Siberian penance, and as he was to be
- ↑ A mixture of French and Russian, meaning "on loan."
