so far that there not even the District Policeman could find him. Of course there he would pay no taxes.
When sober he abandoned these thoughts, realising perchance the impossibility of finding that beautiful mountain, but when drunk he grew bolder. Admitting that he might not find that particular mountain, but some other, he would say: "In that case I should die." But he was prepared to start, nevertheless. If he did not carry out his intention, it was because the Tartars in the village always sold him vile vodka with an infusion of mahorka[1] for strength, and this quickly made him ill and laid him by the heels.
It was Christmas Eve, and Makar knew that tomorrow would be a great holiday. This being the case, he was overpowered with a longing for drink, but to drink there was nothing. His resources were at an end. His flour was all gone, he was already in debt to the village merchants and Tartars, yet to-morrow was a great holiday, he would not be able to work, what could he do if he did not get drunk? This reflection made him unhappy. What a life it was ! He had not even one bottle of vodka to drink on the great winter holiday.
Then a happy thought came to him. He got up and put on his ragged fur coat. His wife, a sturdy,
- ↑ Mahorka: a very cheap smoking mixture made from the stems of tobacco.
