ing saved his daughter’s life. But there was nothing else to do. Strict discipline in the duty of politeness was so strongly entrenched in the boyar’s training that even Tuhar Wolf could not break away from its tradition. Therefore, taking Maxim by the hand, he led him in front of the company of huntsmen and said, “My lad, my dearest and only child, my daughter, Peace-Renown, has told us that you have just saved her life. I have no reason to doubt but what she says is true. Please accept a father’s deep-felt thanks for your valiant deed. I do not know how we are to reward you for this, but you can be sure that whenever you are in need of help, Tuhar Wolf will do his best to repay the great debt he owes you.”
Maxim was perturbed by this unaccustomed praise before all the guests. He had neither expected nor wanted any thanks. Therefore he felt confused not knowing whether to make the usual trite reply or exactly what answer he should make. Finally he said simply, “You have nothing to thank me for, Boyarin! I did only that which anyone else in my place would have done. May your daughter Peace-Renown live long and happily, but I do not feel that any special reward is due me!”
He then turned and called to some of his Tukholian friends with whose help the bear was soon skinned and the cubs carried to the spot from which the company had agreed to start on their way back to camp after the hunt.
The sun neared its zenith spreading its hot, golden beams over the Tukholian mountainside; pine cones warmed by the sun suffused their heady perfume throughout the woodland and arrogantly fanning the air only now and again with his outspread wings, floated a hawk, high over the panorama, in the ocean of brilliant azure sky.
Perfect tranquillity pervaded all of nature. Only from one side of the giant Mt. Zelemenya echoed the sound of horns and shouts of the huntsmen. The hunt was at an end, although it had not been wholly successful.
21
