warm, ran to the door and cried in the same frantic voice in which
he had called Solomon:

"Rosa! Rosa! Bring the samovar!"

A minute later the door opened, and Solomon came into the room
carrying a large tray in his hands. Setting the tray on the table,
he looked away sarcastically with the same queer smile as before.
Now, by the light of the lamp, it was possible to see his smile
distinctly; it was very complex, and expressed a variety of emotions,
but the predominant element in it was undisguised contempt. He
seemed to be thinking of something ludicrous and silly, to be feeling
contempt and dislike, to be pleased at something and waiting for
the favourable moment to turn something into ridicule and to burst
into laughter. His long nose, his thick lips, and his sly prominent
eyes seemed tense with the desire to laugh. Looking at his face,
Kuzmitchov smiled ironically and asked:

"Solomon, why did you not come to our fair at N. this summer, and
act some Jewish scenes?"

Two years before, as Yegorushka remembered very well, at one of the
booths at the fair at N., Solomon had performed some scenes of
Jewish life, and his acting had been a great success. The allusion
to this made no impression whatever upon Solomon. Making no answer,
he went out and returned a little later with the samovar.

When he had done what he had to do at the table he moved a little
aside, and, folding his arms over his chest and thrusting out one
leg, fixed his sarcastic eyes on Father Christopher. There was
something defiant, haughty, and contemptuous in his attitude, and
at the same time it was comic and pitiful in the extreme, because
the more impressive his attitude the more vividly it showed up his
short trousers, his bobtail coat, his caricature of a nose, and his
bird-like plucked-looking little figure.

Moisey Moisevitch brought a footstool from the other room and sat
down a little way from the table.

"I wish you a good appetite! Tea and sugar!" he began, trying to
entertain his visitors. "I hope you will enjoy it. Such rare guests,
such rare ones; it is years since I last saw Father Christopher.
And will no one tell me who is this nice little gentleman?" he
asked, looking tenderly at Yegorushka.

"He is the son of my sister, Olga Ivanovna," answered Kuzmitchov.

"And where is he going?"

"To school. We are taking him to a high school."

In his politeness, Moisey Moisevitch put on a look of wonder and
wagged his head expre