ke from the chimneys, the trees silvered with
hoar-frost, and the snowdrifts, you can see it all. The sky
scintillates with bright twinkling stars, and the Milky Way stands out
so clearly that it looks as if it had been polished and rubbed over
with snow for the holidays...

Vanka sighs, dips his pen in the ink, and continues to write:

"Last night I got a thrashing, my master dragged me by my hair into
the yard, and belaboured me with a shoe-maker's stirrup, because,
while I was rocking his brat in its cradle, I unfortunately fell
asleep. And during the week, my mistress told me to clean a herring,
and I began by its tail, so she took the herring and stuck its snout
into my face. The assistants tease me, send me to the tavern for
vodka, make me steal the master's cucumbers, and the master beats me
with whatever is handy. Food there is none; in the morning it's bread,
at dinner gruel, and in the evening bread again. As for tea or
sour-cabbage soup, the master and the mistress themselves guzzle that.
They make me sleep in the vestibule, and when their brat cries, I
don't sleep at all, but have to rock the cradle. Dear Grandpapa, for
Heaven's sake, take me away from here, home to our village, I can't
bear this any more... I bow to the ground to you, and will pray to God
for ever and ever, take me from here or I shall die..."

The corners of Vanka's mouth went down, he rubbed his eyes with his
dirty fist, and sobbed.

"I'll grate your tobacco for you," he continued, "I'll pray to God for
you, and if there is anything wrong, then flog me like the grey goat.
And if you really think I shan't find work, then I'll ask the manager,
for Christ's sake, to let me clean the boots, or I'll go instead of
Fedya as underherdsman. Dear Grandpapa, I can't bear this any more,
it'll kill me... I wanted to run away to our village, but I have no
boots, and I was afraid of the frost, and when I grow up I'll look
after you, no one shall harm you, and when you die I'll pray for the
repose of your soul, just like I do for mamma Pelagueya.

"As for Moscow, it is a large town, there are all gentlemen's houses,
lots of horses, no sheep, and the dogs are not vicious. The children
don't come round at Christmas with a star, no one is allowed to sing
in the choir, and once I saw in a shop window hooks on a line and
fishing rods, all for sale, and for every kind of fish, awfully
convenient. And there was one hook which would catch a sheat-fish
weig