In our village there was an old, old man, Pímen Timoféich. He was ninety
years old. He was living at the house of his grandson, doing no work.
His back was bent: he walked with a cane and moved his feet slowly.
He had no teeth at all, and his face was wrinkled. His nether lip
trembled; when he walked and when he talked, his lips smacked, and one
could not understand what he was saying.
We were four brothers, and we were fond of riding. But we had no gentle
riding-horses. We were allowed to ride only on one horse,--the name of
that horse was Raven.
One day mamma allowed us to ride, and all of us went with the valet to
the stable. The coachman saddled Raven for us, and my eldest brother was
the first to take a ride. He rode for a long time; he rode to the
threshing-floor and around the garden, and when he came back, we
shouted:
"Now gallop past us!"
My elder brother began to strike Raven with his feet and with the whip,
and Raven galloped past us.
After him, my second brother mounted the horse. He, too, rode for quite
awhile, and he, too, urged Raven on with the whip and galloped up the
hill. He wanted to ride longer, but my third brother begged him to let
him ride at once.
My third brother rode to the threshing-floor, and around the garden, and
down the village, and raced up-hill to the stable. When he rode up to
us Raven was panting, and his neck and shoulders were dark from sweat.
When my turn came, I wanted to surprise my brothers and to show them how
well I could ride, so I began to drive Raven with all my might, but he
did not want to get away from the stable. And no matter how much I beat
him, he would not run, but only shied and turned back. I grew angry at
the horse, and struck him as hard as I could with my feet and with the
whip. I tried to strike him in places where it would hurt most; I broke
the whip and began to strike his head with what was left of the whip.
But Raven would not run. Then I turned back, rode up to the valet, and
asked him for a stout switch. But the valet said to me:
"Don't ride any more, sir! Get down! What use is there in torturing the
horse?"