s
big hands the boy's fear vanished.

Once, when the boy was about eight years old, he asked his father, who
had returned from a long journey:

"Papa, where were you?"

"On the Volga."

"Were you robbing there?" asked Foma, softly.

"Wha-at?" Ignat drawled out, and his eyebrows contracted.

"Aren't you a robber, papa? I know it," said Foma, winking his eyes
slyly, satisfied that he had already read the secret of his father's
life.

"I am a merchant!" said Ignat, sternly, but after a moment's thought he
smiled kind-heartedly and added: "And you are a little fool! I deal in
corn, I run a line of steamers. Have you seen the 'Yermak'? Well, that
is my steamer. And yours, too."

"It is a very big one," said Foma with a sigh.

"Well, I'll buy you a small one while you are small yourself. Shall I?"

"Very well," Foma assented, but after a thoughtful silence he again
drawled out regretfully: "But I thought you were a robber or a giant."

"I tell you I am a merchant!" repeated Ignat, insinuatingly, and there
was something discontented and almost timorous in his glance at the
disenchanted face of his son.

"Like Grandpa Fedor, the Kalatch baker?" asked Foma, having thought
awhile.

"Well, yes, like him. Only I am richer than he. I have more money than
Fedor."

"Have you much money?"

"Well, some people have still more."

"How many barrels do you have?"

"Of what?"

"Of money, I mean."

"Fool! Is money counted by the barrel?"

"How else?" exclaimed Foma, enthusiastically, and, turning his face
toward his father, began to tell him quickly: "Maksimka, the robber,
came once to a certain town and filled up twelve barrels with money
belonging to some rich man there. And he took different silverware and
robbed a church. And cut up a man with his sword and threw him down the
steeple because he tried to sound an alarm."

"Did your aunt tell you that?" asked Ignat admiring his son's
enthusiasm.

"Yes! Why?"

"Nothing!" said Ignat, laughing. "So you thought your father was a
robber."

"And perhaps you were a robber long ago?"

Foma again returned to his theme, and it was evident on his face that he
would be very glad to hear an affirmative answer.

"I was never a robber. Let that end it."

"Never?"

"I tell you I was not! What a queer little boy you are! Is it good to
be a robber? They are all sinners, the robbers. They don't believe in
God--they rob churches. They are all cursed in the churches. Yes