certainly derived benefit for my heart and
mind."

"You breathe with difficulty," she said, looking affectionately at his
open face.

"There are special reasons for that," he replied, raising his finger.
"So the matter's settled, granny? Yes? To-morrow we'll deliver the
matter to you--and the wheels that grind the centuried darkness to
destruction will again start a-rolling. Long live free speech! And
long live a mother's heart! And in the meantime, good-by."

"Good-by," said Samoylov, giving her a vigorous handshake. "To my
mother, I don't dare even hint about such matters. Oh, no!"

"Everybody will understand in time," said Nilovna, wishing to please
him. "Everybody will understand."

When they left, she locked the door, and kneeling in the middle of the
room began to pray, to the accompaniment of the patter of the rain. It
was a prayer without words, one great thought of men, of all those
people whom Pavel introduced into her life. It was as if they passed
between her, and the ikons upon which she held her eyes riveted. And
they all looked so simple, so strangely near to one another, yet so
lone in life.

Early next morning the mother went to Marya Korsunova. The peddler,
noisy and greasy as usual, greeted her with friendly sympathy.

"You are grieving?" Marya asked, patting the mother on the back. "Now,
don't. They just took him, carried him off. Where is the calamity?
There is no harm in it. It used to be that men were thrown into
dungeons for stealing, now they are there for telling the truth. Pavel
may have said something wrong, but he stood up for all, and they all
know it. Don't worry! They don't all say so, but they all know a good
man when they see, him. I was going to call on you right along, but
had no time. I am always cooking and selling, but will end my days a
beggar, I guess, all the same. My needs get the best of me, confound
them! They keep nibbling and nibbling like mice at a piece of cheese.
No sooner do I manage to scrape together ten rubles or so, when along
comes some heathen, and makes away with all my money. Yes. It's hard
to be a woman! It's a wretched business! To live alone is hard, to
live with anyone, still harder!"

"And I came to ask you to take me as your assistant," Vlasova broke in,
interrupting her prattle.

"How is that?" asked Marya. And after hearing her friend's
explanation, she nodded her head assentingly.

"That's possible! You remember