bed, lay there in a
raging fever for a week, and then died. Martin buried his son in
despair--so desperate was he that he began to murmur against God. Such
disgust of life overcame him that he more than once begged God that he
might die; and he reproached God for taking not him, an old man, but his
darling, his only son, instead. And after that Avdyeeich left off going
to church.

And lo! one day, there came to Avdyeeich from the Troitsa Monastery, an
aged peasant-pilgrim--it was already the eighth year of his pilgrimage.
Avdyeeich fell a-talking with him and began to complain of his great
sorrow. "As for living any longer, thou man of God," said he, "I desire it
not. Would only that I might die! That is my sole prayer to God. I am now
a man who has no hope."

And the old man said to him: "Thy speech, Martin, is not good. How shall
we judge the doings of God? God's judgments are not our thoughts. God
willed that thy son shouldst die, but that thou shouldst live. Therefore
'twas the best thing both for him and for thee. It is because thou wouldst
fain have lived for thy own delight that thou dost now despair."

"But what then _is_ a man to live for?" asked Avdyeeich.

And the old man answered: "For God, Martin! He gave thee life, and for Him
therefore must thou live. When thou dost begin to live for Him, thou wilt
grieve about nothing more, and all things will come easy to thee."

Martin was silent for a moment, and then he said: "And how must one live
for God?"

"Christ hath shown us the way. Thou knowest thy letters. Buy the Gospels
and read; there thou wilt find out how to live for God. There everything
is explained."

These words made the heart of Avdyeeich burn within him, and he went the
same day and bought for himself a New Testament printed in very large
type, and began to read.

Avdyeeich set out with the determination to read it only on holidays; but
as he read, it did his heart so much good that he took to reading it every
day. And the second time he read until all the kerosene in the lamp had
burnt itself out, and for all that he could not tear himself away from the
book. And so it was every evening. And the more he read, the more clearly
he understood what God wanted of him, and how it behooved him to live for
God; and his heart grew lighter and lighter continually. Formerly,
whenever he lay down to sleep he would only sigh and groan, and think of
nothing but Kapitoshka, but now he would only say to