really don't know what to say, Ivan Ivanitch!" Nastasya Petrovna
sighed tearfully. "Ten roubles a month is very good, but it is a
dreadful thing to take another person's child! He may fall ill or
something. . . ."

When Yegorushka was summoned back to the drawing-room Ivan Ivanitch
was standing with his hat in his hands, saying good-bye.

"Well, let him stay with you now, then," he said. "Good-bye! You
stay, Yegor!" he said, addressing his nephew. "Don't be troublesome;
mind you obey Nastasya Petrovna. . . . Good-bye; I am coming again
to-morrow."

And he went away. Nastasya once more embraced Yegorushka, called
him a little angel, and with a tear-stained face began preparing
for dinner. Three minutes later Yegorushka was sitting beside her,
answering her endless questions and eating hot savoury cabbage soup.

In the evening he sat again at the same table and, resting his head
on his hand, listened to Nastasya Petrovna. Alternately laughing
and crying, she talked of his mother's young days, her own marriage,
her children. . . . A cricket chirruped in the stove, and there was
a faint humming from the burner of the lamp. Nastasya Petrovna
talked in a low voice, and was continually dropping her thimble in
her excitement; and Katka her granddaughter, crawled under the table
after it and each time sat a long while under the table, probably
examining Yegorushka's feet; and Yegorushka listened, half dozing
and looking at the old woman's face, her wart with hairs on it, and
the stains of tears, and he felt sad, very sad. He was put to sleep
on a chest and told that if he were hungry in the night he must go
out into the little passage and take some chicken, put there under
a plate in the window.

Next morning Ivan Ivanitch and Father Christopher came to say
good-bye. Nastasya Petrovna was delighted to see them, and was about
to set the samovar; but Ivan Ivanitch, who was in a great hurry,
waved his hands and said:

"We have no time for tea! We are just setting off."

Before parting they all sat down and were silent for a minute.
Nastasya Petrovna heaved a deep sigh and looked towards the ikon
with tear-stained eyes.

"Well," began Ivan Ivanitch, getting up, "so you will stay. . . ."

All at once the look of business-like reserve vanished from his
face; he flushed a little and said with a mournful smile:

"Mind you work hard. . . . Don't forget your mother, and obey
Nastasya Petrovna. . . . If you are diligent at sch