The downpour continued. It seemed as i the clouds, which were crawling slow and heavy over the ground, were streaming down veritable rivulets of tepid water. At last we reached our goal, soaked to our very bones.
An aged peasant, clad in white linen trousers and shirt, was already waiting at the appointed place. The spot itself was very uncommon indeed. In the centre of a little glade surrounded by tall pine-trees stood the giant trunk of a mighty but long since decayed tree. Near by lay a blackened and moss-covered rock. My host explained to me that this was the trunk "of the god Perkunas' tree," and the rock served as an altar upon which of old sacrifices were offered to that terrible god of the Slavs.
The night was as black as despair. I heard nothing but the splash of the falling rain, the shuffling of legs over the softened, slippery ground, and the low whisper of a score of human beings assembled around the altar of Perkunas.
"Light the fires!" commanded the old man, and in several spots at once flashed through thick smoke the kindled bark of the birch. After a few moments two large fires were blazing, defying the rain. Then the greybeard unmade the bundle lying beside the rock, took out of it a black cock, placed it on the rock, and cutting its throat, smeared the stone with its blood, crying out:
"O ancient gods! Perun, Volos, god Dajdj! Help
