started back in wild terror; even
the baby bear was alarmed and slunk into the hut with its tail between
its legs.

Ivan stood for a long while motionless, then he sat down silently by the
fire and stirred it up.

"Cursed--cursed," he murmured to himself. "Who has cursed them. God
pardons sinners, they say. Come!" he said gloomily to the little one.
"Sit down here. It is all right."

"I am frightened."

Ivan bent lower over the fire. "The past will not let itself be buried,"
he thought. "Why must I frighten an innocent creature too?" Then again
his memories stung him and he cried in a new outburst of rage, "Who
dares curse us. You hard-hearted----Yes, it is all right," he added,
trying to quiet the child who was still trembling. "You say you love
Grandfather; so come nearer."

But Anjuta stared hard at him and did not move.

"Look at the nice soup," he said to tempt her and recovered his
self-control. "We will take the fowl out by its legs. It shall have a
special privilege and lie on the grass till it is cool, else you will
burn your mouth." Anjuta approached with visible mistrust.

"Why are you afraid, you simpleton? Bring our spoons. Oh, you stupid
thing! Have I ever hurt you?"

"You looked so dreadful--quite like another man."

"Oh, that was only a joke. I wanted to show you what wicked men look
like. You always ask me to play 'wolf'; just now I played 'bad man.'"

"I am not so frightened at the wolf as at the bad man."

"Ah, child, one must sympathize with them. Do you think it is so easy to
be bad? The Lord has made it hard enough for them; they must suffer
much. It is not really of their own accord that they seize every one by
the throat. They say that God hears children's prayers. Pray then,
Anjuta: 'O God, have mercy on the wicked men.' The good need no one to
pray for them; they are safe anyhow."

VIII

Such fits of excitement grew ever rarer with Ivan. As the summer
advanced, the convict became quieter. Whenever he watched Anjuta playing
with her mischievous playfellow, or listened to the melancholy call of
the birds, or sat by the blazing fire, the furrows on his brow became
smoother and a comfortable drowsiness lulled his wild instincts to rest.
He had become quite a different man from what he was when he first
escaped. But his dreams at night often transported him back to the damp
prison-cell, or he saw himself again walking in the file of the
prisoners on the apparently endless high roa