me."

"You are telling fibs, you are telling fibs, you horrid boy!" said
Zaikin, growing more and more irritated. "You are always telling
fibs! You want a whipping, you horrid little pig! I will pull your
ears!"

Petya leapt up, and craning his neck, stared fixedly at his father's
red and wrathful face. His big eyes first began blinking, then were
dimmed with moisture, and the boy's face began working.

"But why are you scolding?" squealed Petya. "Why do you attack me,
you stupid? I am not interfering with anybody; I am not naughty; I
do what I am told, and yet . . . you are cross! Why are you scolding
me?"

The boy spoke with conviction, and wept so bitterly that Zaikin
felt conscience-stricken.

"Yes, really, why am I falling foul of him?" he thought. "Come,
come," he said, touching the boy on the shoulder. "I am sorry, Petya
. . . forgive me. You are my good boy, my nice boy, I love you."

Petya wiped his eyes with his sleeve, sat down, with a sigh, in the
same place and began cutting out the queen. Zaikin went off to his
own room. He stretched himself on the sofa, and putting his hands
behind his head, sank into thought. The boy's tears had softened
his anger, and by degrees the oppression on his liver grew less.
He felt nothing but exhaustion and hunger.

"Father," he heard on the other side of the door, "shall I show you
my collection of insects?"

"Yes, show me."

Petya came into the study and handed his father a long green box.
Before raising it to his ear Zaikin could hear a despairing buzz
and the scratching of claws on the sides of the box. Opening the
lid, he saw a number of butterflies, beetles, grasshoppers, and
flies fastened to the bottom of the box with pins. All except two
or three butterflies were still alive and moving.

"Why, the grasshopper is still alive!" said Petya in surprise. "I
caught him yesterday morning, and he is still alive!"

"Who taught you to pin them in this way?"

"Olga Kirillovna."

"Olga Kirillovna ought to be pinned down like that herself!" said
Zaikin with repulsion. "Take them away! It's shameful to torture
animals."

"My God! How horribly he is being brought up!" he thought, as Petya
went out.

Pavel Matveyitch forgot his exhaustion and hunger, and thought of
nothing but his boy's future. Meanwhile, outside the light was
gradually fading. . . . He could hear the summer visitors trooping
back from the evening bathe. Some one was stopping near the open
di