vanonv was a track-walker. His hut was ten versts away from a
railroad station in one direction and twelve versts away in the other.
About four versts away there was a cotton mill that had opened the
year before, and its tall chimney rose up darkly from behind the
forest. The only dwellings around were the distant huts of the other
track-walkers.

Semyon Ivanov's health had been completely shattered. Nine years
before he had served right through the war as servant to an officer.
The sun had roasted him, the cold frozen him, and hunger famished him
on the forced marches of forty and fifty versts a day in the heat and
the cold and the rain and the shine. The bullets had whizzed about
him, but, thank God! none had struck him.

Semyon's regiment had once been on the firing line. For a whole week
there had been skirmishing with the Turks, only a deep ravine
separating the two hostile armies; and from morn till eve there had
been a steady cross-fire. Thrice daily Semyon carried a steaming
samovar and his officer's meals from the camp kitchen to the ravine.
The bullets hummed about him and rattled viciously against the rocks.
Semyon was terrified and cried sometimes, but still he kept right on.
The officers were pleased with him, because he always had hot tea
ready for them.

He returned from the campaign with limbs unbroken but crippled with
rheumatism. He had experienced no little sorrow since then. He arrived
home to find that his father, an old man, and his little four-year-old
son had died. Semyon remained alone with his wife. They could not do
much. It was difficult to plough with rheumatic arms and legs. They
could no longer stay in their village, so they started off to seek
their fortune in new places. They stayed for a short time on the line,
in Kherson and Donshchina, but nowhere found luck. Then the wife went
out to service, and Semyon continued to travel about. Once he happened
to ride on an engine, and at one of the stations the face of the
station-master seemed familiar to him. Semyon looked at the
station-master and the station-master looked at Semyon, and they
recognised each other. He had been an officer in Semyon's regiment.

"You are Ivanov?" he said.

"Yes, your Excellency."

"How do you come to be here?"

Semyon told him all.

"Where are you off to?"

"I cannot tell you, sir."

"Idiot! What do you mean by 'cannot tell you?'"

"I mean what I say, your Excellency. There is nowhere for me to go