Togotochurchortothetavernortolarkinthestreetwiththeladswasnothisfashion，hewouldrathersitaloneorbewhisperingwitholdwomen。Whenhewasstillyounghetookjobstolookafterthebeesandthemarketgardens。Goodfolkswouldcometohismarketgardensometimesandhismelonswerewhistling。Onedayhecaughtapike，whenfolkswerelookingon，anditlaughedaloud，’Ho-ho-ho-ho！’“
“Itdoeshappen，“saidPanteley。
Theyoungshepherdturnedonhissideand，liftinghisblackeyebrows，staredintentlyattheoldman。
“Didyouhearthemelonswhistling？“heasked。
“HearthemIdidn’t，theLordsparedme，“sighedtheoldman，“butfolkstoldmeso。ItisnogreatwondertheEvilOnewillbeginwhistlinginastoneifhewantsto。BeforetheDayofFreedomarockwashummingforthreedaysandthreenightsinourparts。Ihearditmyself。ThepikelaughedbecauseYefimcaughtadevilinsteadofapike。“