ong," said Rybin dully.

The fire blazed up again, but now it was stronger and more vivid. Again
the shadows leaped into the woods, and again darted back to the fire,
quivering about it in a mute, astonished dance. The wood crackled, and
the leaves of the trees rustled softly. Alarmed by the waves of the
heated atmosphere, the merry, vivacious tongues of fire, yellow and
red, in sportive embrace, soared aloft, sowing sparks. The burning
leaves flew, and the stars in the sky smiled to the sparks, luring them
up to themselves.

"That's not MY song. Thousands of people sing it. But they sing it to
themselves, not realizing what a salutary lesson their unfortunate
lives hold for all. How many men, tormented to death by work,
miserable cripples, maimed, die silently from hunger! It is necessary
to shout it aloud, brothers, it is necessary to shout it aloud!" He
fell into a fit of coughing, bending and all a-shiver.

"Why?" asked Yefim. "My misery is my own affair. Just look at my joy."

"Don't interrupt," Rybin admonished.

"You yourself said a man mustn't boast of his misfortune," observed
Yefim with a frown.

"That's a different thing. Savely's misfortune is a general affair,
not merely his own. It's very different," said Rybin solemnly. "Here
you have a man who has gone down to the depths and been suffocated. Now
he shouts to the world, 'Look out, don't go there!'"

Yakob put a pail of cider on the table, dropped a bundle of green
branches, and said to the sick man:

"Come, Savely, I've brought you some milk."

Savely shook his head in declination, but Yakob took him under the arm,
lifted him, and made him walk to the table.

"Listen," said Sofya softly to Rybin. She was troubled and reproached
him. "Why did you invite him here? He may die any minute."

"He may," retorted Rybin. "Let him die among people. That's easier
than to die alone. In the meantime let him speak. He lost his life
for trifles. Let him suffer a little longer for the sake of the
people. It's all right!"

"You seem to take particular delight in it," exclaimed Sofya.

"It's the masters who take pleasure in Christ as he groans on the
cross. But what we want is to learn from a man, and make you learn
something, too."

At the table the sick man began to speak again:

"They destroy lives with work. What for? They rob men of their lives.
What for, I ask? My master--I lost my life in the textile mill of
Nefidov--my