condemned to be flogged and sent to the mines. So he was
flogged with a knot, and when the wounds made by the knot were healed,
he was driven to Siberia with other convicts.

For twenty-six years Aksionov lived as a convict in Siberia. His hair
turned white as snow, and his beard grew long, thin, and grey. All his
mirth went; he stooped; he walked slowly, spoke little, and never
laughed, but he often prayed.

In prison Aksionov learnt to make boots, and earned a little money,
with which he bought _The Lives of the Saints_. He read this book when
there was light enough in the prison; and on Sundays in the
prison-church he read the lessons and sang in the choir; for his voice
was still good.

The prison authorities liked Aksionov for his meekness, and his
fellow-prisoners respected him: they called him "Grandfather," and
"The Saint." When they wanted to petition the prison authorities about
anything, they always made Aksionov their spokesman, and when there
were quarrels among the prisoners they came to him to put things
right, and to judge the matter.

No news reached Aksionov from his home, and he did not even know if
his wife and children were still alive.

One day a fresh gang of convicts came to the prison. In the evening
the old prisoners collected round the new ones and asked them what
towns or villages they came from, and what they were sentenced for.
Among the rest Aksionov sat down near the newcomers, and listened with
downcast air to what was said.

One of the new convicts, a tall, strong man of sixty, with a
closely-cropped grey beard, was telling the others what be had been
arrested for.

"Well, friends," he said, "I only took a horse that was tied to a
sledge, and I was arrested and accused of stealing. I said I had only
taken it to get home quicker, and had then let it go; besides, the
driver was a personal friend of mine. So I said, 'It's all right.'
'No,' said they, 'you stole it.' But how or where I stole it they
could not say. I once really did something wrong, and ought by rights
to have come here long ago, but that time I was not found out. Now I
have been sent here for nothing at all... Eh, but it's lies I'm
telling you; I've been to Siberia before, but I did not stay long."

"Where are you from?" asked some one.

"From Vladimir. My family are of that town. My name is Makar, and they
also call me Semyonich."

Aksionov raised his head and said: "Tell me, Semyonich, do you know
anything o