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 of the swiftly cascading stream that one would almost swear it had been made by man. Guarding the entrance of this narrow pass was an immense, thick column of rock at the bottom worn thin by the action of the water while its top was formed almost in the shape of a huge head and covered with a growth of ferns and dwarfed birches. This was the famed “Sentinel of Tukhlia” which safeguarded the entrance to the valley, ready to fall upon and crush to death anyone who came there with evil intentions towards the inhabitants of the peaceful, fortunate paradise. Tuhar Wolf himself felt a chill creep up his spine as he looked at the fearful guard.

“Tchfu! Tchfu! What a dangerous-looking stone devil!” he spat, “hanging over the passageway as if it were ready to fall upon one at any moment!”

“This is a sacred stone, Boyarin,” explained Maxim reverently. “Every spring the people decorate him with wreaths and garlands woven of the sacred fire-flower. He is the guardian of our Tukhlia.”

“Oh, bah! Everything here is yours, everything is sacred, everything belongs to the Tukholians, until it’s nauseating to listen to you!” cried Tuhar disgustedly. “As if there was no other world outside your precious Tukhlia!”

“To be quite honest,” replied Maxim, “that is exactly how we feel. We love our Tuhlia above all other places in the world. Now, if everyone loved his section of the world as much as we love ours, all the people would live happily and peacefully always.”

Maxim in his sincere purity of heart was evidently unaware how deeply he had cut into the heart and offended the boyar by this remark. Nor did he notice the hateful look Tuhar Wolf cast in his direction. Turning to Peace-Renown again, Maxim continued on loquaciously, in an even, warmly cordial tone, “There is an interesting story about this Sentinel. I’ll tell it to you as I heard it from my father: