AMONG THE DON COSSACKS 31 



By the nodding of the heads of all present one could 

 see that they were in full accord with the sentiments 

 expressed by their elder. Thus a situation that might 

 have ended tragically was relieved. 



I recall also another Sunday afternoon. The sun 

 is sinking low, shedding its last glorious rays on the 

 large orchard before us, and gilding as far as the eye 

 can reach the full ripe ears of corn, rye and wheat. 

 From afar the bleating of the flock is heard the shep- 

 herds bringing it in. Soon the white masses of the 

 sheep are seen huddled against the sky. Nearer and 

 nearer they come the whole large field covered 

 thickly, as with a snowy weed. The flaming tops of the 

 golden grain furnish a rich foreground. Among the 

 dim masses we can soon distinguish the figures of the 

 shepherds and hear their songs and cries mingled with 

 the bleating of the flock. Closer and closer comes the 

 weird music of the balalaikas the rich sound of the 

 concertina. The songs, the instruments, the whistling, 

 the bleating of the sheep all produce a confused but 

 intense harmony. The setting sun, the thousands of 

 shifting, surging bodies, the sun-kissed grain seem 

 to make up a huge stage-setting, depicting the pastoral 

 life of these simple peasants. That scene has left an 

 impression on me which lasts to this day. 



To add to the brilliance of the picture, both the men 

 and the women had their best Sunday clothes on. The 

 women wore their gay-colored, four-yard-wide short 

 skirts, with the blouses of snowy- white homespun 



