still he was quite fifteen miles from the goal. "Well," thought he, "although my property will be somewhat lop-sided, I must nevertheless keep straight on now. Any more would be more than I could manage. I've got enough land at last." So Pakhom turned his steps straight towards the mound.
IX.
Pakhom went straight towards the mound, and very heavy going he found it. On he went, stumbling again and again. His legs ached and swelled, and seemed on the point of giving way beneath him altogether. He would have liked to have rested, but that was now out of the question, he would never have reached the goal before sunset. The sun did not wait for him. It was not sinking, it was falling—falling as if someone was jerking it down. "Alas!" thought Pakhom, " have I made a mistake? Have I chosen too much? Suppose I don't arrive in time! Alas! how far off it is! I am wearied to death! What if all my labour and trouble go for nothing!—I must put on a spurt."
Pakhom pulled himself together and broke into a trot. His legs began to bleed, but he ran for all that. He threw away his vest, his shoes, his water-gourd; he threw away his hat. "Alas!" thought Pakhom, "I have coveted too much, and I shall lose everything if I do not reach the goal in time," and a terrible fear seized upon his soul. Pakhom ran and ran. His shirt and his trousers, drenched with sweat, clave
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