MELITONSHISHKIN，abailifffromtheDementyevfarm，exhaustedbythesultryheatofthefir-woodandcoveredwithspiders’websandpine-needles，madehiswaywithhisguntotheedgeofthewood。HisDamka——amongrelbetweenayarddogandasetter——
anextremelythinbitchheavywithyoung，trailedafterhermasterwithherwettailbetweenherlegs，doingallshecouldtoavoidprickinghernose。Itwasadull，overcastmorning。Bigdropsdrippedfromthebrackenandfromthetreesthatwerewrappedinalightmist；therewasapungentsmellofdecayfromthedampnessofthewood。
Therewerebirch-treesaheadofhimwherethewoodended，andbetweentheirstemsandbrancheshecouldseethemistydistance。
Beyondthebirch-treessomeonewasplayingonashepherd’srusticpipe。Theplayerproducednomorethanfiveorsixnotes，draggedthemoutlanguidlywithnoattemptatformingatune，andyettherewassomethingharshandextremelydrearyinthesoundofthepiping。
Asthecopsebecamesparser，andthepineswereinterspersedwithyoungbirch-trees，Melitonsawaherd。Hobbledhorses，cows，andsheepwerewanderingamongthebushesand，snappingthedrybranches，sniffedattheherbageofthecopse。Aleanoldshepherd，bareheaded，inatorngreysmock，stoodleaningagainstthewettrunkofabirch-tree。Hestaredattheground，ponderingsomething，andplayedhispipe，itseemed，mechanically。
“Good-day，grandfather！Godhelpyou！“Melitongreetedhiminathin，huskyvoicewhichseemedincongruouswithhishugestatureandbig，fleshyface。“Howcleverlyyouareplayingyourpipe！
Whoseherdareyouminding？“
“TheArtamonovs’，“theshepherdansweredreluctantly，andhethrustthepipeintohisbosom。
“SoIsupposethewoodistheArtamonovs’too？“Melitoninquired，lookingabouthim。“Yes，itistheArtamonovs’；onlyfancy
Ihadcompletelylostmyself。Igotmyfacescratchedalloverinthethicket。“
Hesatdownonthewetearthandbeganrollingupabitofnewspaperintoacigarette。
Likehisvoice，everythingaboutthemanwassmallandoutofkeepingwithhisheight，hisbreadth，andhisfleshyface:hissmiles，hiseyes，hisbuttons，histinycap，whichwouldhardlykeeponhisbig，closely-croppedhead。Whenhetalkedandsmiledtherewassomethingwomanish，timid，andmeekabouthispuffy，shavenfaceandhiswholefigure。
“Whatweather！Godhelpus！“hesaid，andheturnedhisheadfromsidetoside。“Folkhavenotcarriedtheoatsyet，andtherainseemsasthoughithadbeentakenonforgood，Godblessit。“
Theshepherdlookedatthesky，fromwhichadrizzlingrainwasfalling，atthewood，atthebailif’swetclothes，pondered，andsaidnothing。
“Thewholesummerhasbeenthesame，“sighedMeliton。“Abadbusinessforthepeasantsandnopleasureforthegentry。“
Theshepherdlookedattheskyagain，thoughtamoment，andsaiddeliberately，asthoughchewingeachword:
“It’sallgoingthesameway。Thereisnothinggoodtobelookedfor。“
“Howarethingswithyouhere？“Melitoninquired，lightinghiscigarette。“Haven’tyouseenanycoveysofgrouseintheArtamonovs’clearing？“
Theshepherddidnotansweratonce。Helookedagainattheskyandtorightandleft，thoughtalittle，blinked。
Apparentlyheattachednolittlesignificancetohiswords，andtoincreasetheirvaluetriedtopronouncethemwithdeliberationandacertainsolemnity。Theexpressionofhisfacehadthesharpnessandstaidnessofoldage，andthefactthathisnosehadasaddle-shapeddepressionacrossthemiddleandhisnostrilsturnedupwardsgavehimaslyandsarcasticlook。
“No，IbelieveIhaven’t，“hesaid。“OurhuntsmanEryomkawassayingthatonElijah’sDayhestartedonecoveynearPustoshye，butIdaresayhewaslying。Thereareveryfewbirds。“
“Yes，brother，veryfew。Veryfeweverywhere！Theshootinghere，ifoneistolookatitwithcommonsense，isgoodfornothingandnotworthhaving。Thereisnogameatall，andwhatthereisisnotworthdirtyingyourhandsover——itisnotfull-grown。Itissuchpoorstuffthatoneisashamedtolookatit。“
Melitongavealaughandwavedhishands。
“Thingshappensoqueerlyinthisworldthatitissimplylaughableandnothingelse。Birdsnowadayshavebecomesounaccountable:theysitlateontheireggs，andtherearesome，I
declare，thathavenothatchedthembySt。Peter’sDay！“
“It’sallgoingthesame，“saidtheshepherd，turninghisfaceupwards。“Therewaslittlegamelastyear，thisyeartherearefewerbirdsstill，andinanotherfiveyears，markmywords，therewillbenoneatall。AsfarasIcanseetherewillsoonbenotonlynogame，butnobirdsatall。“
Yes，“Melitonassented，afteramoment’sthought。“That’strue。“
Theshepherdgaveabittersmileandshookhishead。
“It’sawonder，“hesaid，“whathasbecomeofthemall！I
remembertwentyyearsagothereusedtobegeesehere，andcranesandducksandgrouse——cloudsandcloudsofthem！Thegentryusedtomeettogetherforshooting，andoneheardnothingbutpouf-pouf-pouf！pouf-pouf-pouf！Therewasnoendtothewoodcocks，thesnipe，andthelittleteals，andthewater-snipewereascommonasstarlings，orletussaysparrows——lotsandlotsofthem！Andwhathasbecomeofthemall？Wedon’tevenseethebirdsofprey。Theeagles，thehawks，andtheowlshaveallgone。Therearefewerofeverysortofwildbeast，too。
Nowadays，brother，eventhewolfandthefoxhavegrownrare，letalonethebearortheotter。Andyouknowinolddaystherewereevenelks！ForfortyyearsIhavebeenobservingtheworksofGodfromyeartoyear，anditismyopinionthateverythingisgoingthesameway。“
“Whatway？“
“Tothebad，youngman。Toruin，wemustsupposeThetimehascomeforGod’sworldtoperish。“
Theoldmanputonhiscapandbegangazingatthesky。
“It’sapity，“hesighed，afterabriefsilence。“OGod，whatapity！OfcourseitisGod’swill；theworldwasnotcreatedbyus，butyetitisapity，brother。Ifasingletreewithersaway，orletussayasinglecowdies，itmakesonesorry，butwhatwillitbe，goodman，ifthewholeworldcrumblesintodust？Suchblessings，LordJesus！Thesun，andthesky，andtheforest，andtherivers，andthecreatures——allthesehavebeencreated，adapted，andadjustedtooneanother。Eachhasbeenputtoitsappointedtaskandknowsitsplace。Andallthatmustperish。“
Amournfulsmilegleamedontheshepherd’sface，andhiseyelidsquivered。
“Yousay——theworldisperishing，“saidMeliton，pondering。“Itmaybethattheendoftheworldisnearathand，butyoucan’tjudgebythebirds。Idon’tthinkthebirdscanbetakenasasign。“
“Notthebirdsonly，“saidtheshepherd。“It’sthewildbeasts，too，andthecattle，andthebees，andthefish。Ifyoudon’tbelievemeasktheoldpeople；everyoldmanwilltellyouthatthefisharenotatallwhattheyusedtobe。Intheseas，inthelakes，andintherivers，therearefewerfishfromyeartoyear。InourPestchanka，Iremember，pikeusedtobecaughtayardlong，andtherewereeel-pouts，androach，andbream，andeveryfishhadapresentableappearance；whilenowadays，ifyoucatchawretchedlittlepikeletorperchsixincheslongyouhavetobethankful。Therearenotanygudgeonevenworthtalkingabout。Everyyearitisworseandworse，andinalittlewhiletherewillbenofishatall。Andtaketheriversnowtheriversaredryingup，forsure。“
“Itistrue；theyaredryingup。“
“Tobesure，that’swhatIsay。Everyyeartheyareshallowerandshallower，andtherearenotthedeepholesthereusedtobe。Anddoyouseethebushesyonder？“theoldmanasked，pointingtooneside。“Beyondthemisanoldriver-bed；it’scalledabackwater。
Inmyfather’stimethePestchankaflowedthere，butnowlook；
wherehavetheevilspiritstakenitto？Itchangesitscourse，and，mindyou，itwillgoonchangingtillsuchtimeasithasdriedupaltogether。ThereusedtobemarshesandpondsbeyondKurgasovo，andwherearetheynow？Andwhathasbecomeofthestreams？Hereinthisverywoodweusedtohaveastreamflowing，andsuchastreamthatthepeasantsusedtosetcreelsinitandcaughtpike；wildducksusedtospendthewinterbyit，andnowadaysthereisnowaterinitworthspeakingof，evenatthespringfloods。Yes，brother，lookwhereyouwill，thingsarebadeverywhere。Everywhere！“
Asilencefollowed。Melitonsankintothought，withhiseyesfixedononespot。Hewantedtothinkofsomeonepartofnatureasyetuntouchedbytheall-embracingruin。Spotsoflightglistenedonthemistandtheslantingstreaksofrainasthoughonopaqueglass，andimmediatelydiedawayagain——itwastherisingsuntryingtobreakthroughthecloudsandpeepattheearth。
“Yes，theforests，too“Melitonmuttered。
“Theforests，too，“theshepherdrepeated。“Theycutthemdown，andtheycatchfire，andtheywitheraway，andnonewonesaregrowing。Whateverdoesgrowupiscutdownatonce；onedayitshootsupandthenextithasbeencutdown——andsoonwithoutendtillnothing’sleft。IhavekepttheherdsofthecommuneeversincethetimeofFreedom，goodman；beforethetimeofFreedomIwasshepherdofthemaster’sherds。Ihavewatchedtheminthisveryspot，andIcan’trememberasummerdayinallmylifethatIhavenotbeenhere。AndallthetimeIhavebeenobservingtheworksofGod。IhavelookedattheminmytimetillIknowthem，anditismyopinionthatallthingsgrowingareonthedecline。Whetheryoutaketherye，orthevegetables，orflowersofanysort，theyareallgoingthesameway。“