orities, too, smell a rat, as
though a cold wind were blowing on them from the peasants. They see
the peasant smiles very little, and altogether is not very kindly
disposed and wants to disaccustom himself to the authorities. The
other day in Smolyakov, a village not far from here, they came to
extort the taxes; and your peasants got stubborn and flew into a
passion. The police commissioner said straight out: 'Oh, you damned
scoundrels! why, this is disobedience to the Czar!' There was one
little peasant there, Spivakin, and says he: 'Off with you to the
evil mother with your Czar! What kind of a Czar is he if he pulls the
last shirt off your body?' That's how far it went, mother. Of course,
they snatched Spivakin off to prison. But the word remained, and even
the little boys know it. It lives! It shouts! And perhaps in our days
the word is worth more than a man. People are stupefied and deadened
by their absorption in breadwinning. Yes."

Pyotr did not eat, but kept on talking in a quick whisper, his dark,
roguish eyes gleaming merrily. He lavishly scattered before the mother
innumerable little observations on the village life--they rolled from
him like copper coins from a full purse.

Stepan several times reminded him: "Why don't you eat?" Pyotr would
then seize a piece of bread and a spoon and fall to talking and
sputtering again like a goldfinch. Finally, after the meal, he jumped
to his feet and announced:

"Well, it's time for me to go home. Good-by, mother!" and he shook her
hand and nodded his head. "Maybe we shall never see each other again.
I must say to you that all this is very good--to meet you and hear your
speeches--very good! Is there anything in your valise beside the
printed matter? A shawl? Excellent! A shawl, remember, Stepan.
He'll bring you the valise at once. Come, Stepan. Good-by. I wish
everything good to you."

After he had gone the crawling sound of the roaches became audible in
the hut, the blowing of the wind over the roof and its knocking against
the door in the chimney. A fine rain dripped monotonously on the
window. Tatyana prepared a bed for the mother on the bench with
clothing brought from the oven and the storeroom.

"A lively man!" remarked the mother.

The hostess looked at her sidewise.

"A light fellow," she answered. "He rattles on and rattles on; you
can't but hear the rattling at a great distance."

"And how is your husband?" asked the mother