tried to converse with him in the most simple manner about the blessings of Christ's example and the object of His sufferings; but my listener continued imperturbably to brandish his long stick in the same way. It was difficult to deceive myself. I saw that he did not understand anything.
"You have understood nothing?" I asked.
"Nothing, Bachka—you making lies of truth; I am sorry for Him. He was good, the little Christ."
"Good?"
"He was good, Bachka, He must not be wronged."
"You ought to love Him?"
"How could one not love Him, Bachka?"
"What You could love Him?"
"How could I not, Bachka—I always loved Him, Bachka."
"That's right, my good lad."
"Thank you, Bachka."
"Now it only remains for you to be baptized. He will save you, too."
The savage was silent.
"What is it, friend?" I said. "Why are you silent?"
"No, Bachka."
"What do you mean by 'No, Bachka.'"
"He won't save me, Bachka; for Him the
