ELIE MUROMITCH.
(Adapted from a Russian Ballad.)
Near the splendid town of Murom was a small village called Karatchaev, in which lived a peasant by name Ivan Timofeivitch, who had a favourite son, Elie Muromitch. Now this son was unable to walk; he had not moved from his chair for thirty long years.
Harvest-time had come, and all the peasants had gone off into the fields to work; Elie alone stayed at home. As he sat in his chair by the open window, two cripples came limping along the road; they stopped in front of the window, and began begging for something to eat and drink.
"Walk into the hut, my poor brothers!" answered Elie; "there is plenty to eat and drink here, but no one to give it you."
But the beggars replied,—
"No, get up and fetch the things for us yourself."
"I cannot walk, I have no strength in my legs; I have sat in this chair for thirty years, unable to move or do anything."
Still the beggars only said,—
"Never mind; get up, and fetch the things!"
Elie suddenly felt his strength returning, but he could not rise.
