igh:

"Auntie Anfisa knows better than you."

"What does she know?" asked Ignat, smiling.

"Everything," replied the boy, convincedly.

No wonderful kingdom appeared before him. But often cities appeared on
the banks of the river, just such cities as the one where Foma lived.
Some of them were larger, some smaller, but the people, and the houses,
and the churches--all were the same as in his own city. Foma examined
them in company with his father, but was still unsatisfied and returned
to the steamer gloomy and fatigued.

"Tomorrow we shall be in Astrakhan," said Ignat one day.

"And is it just the same as the other cities?"

"Of course. How else should it be?"

"And what is beyond Astrakhan?"

"The sea. The Caspian Sea it is called."

"And what is there?"

"Fishes, queer fellow! What else can there be in the water?"

"There's the city Kitezh standing in the water."

"That's a different thing! That's Kitezh. Only righteous people live
there."

"And are there no righteous cities on the sea?"

"No," said Ignat, and, after a moment's silence, added: "The sea water is
bitter and nobody can drink it."

"And is there more land beyond the sea?"

"Certainly, the sea must have an end. It is like a cup."

"And are there cities there too?"

"Again cities. Of course! Only that land is not ours, it belongs to
Persia. Did you see the Persians selling pistachio-nuts and apricots in
the market?"

"Yes, I saw them," replied Foma, and became pensive.

One day he asked his father:

"Is there much more land left?"

"The earth is very big, my dear! If you should go on foot, you couldn't
go around it even in ten years."

Ignat talked for a long time with his son about the size of the earth,
and said at length:

"And yet no one knows for certain how big it really is, nor where it
ends."

"And is everything alike on earth?"

"What do you mean?"

"The cities and all?"

"Well, of course, the cities are like cities. There are houses,
streets--and everything that is necessary."

After many similar conversations the boy no longer stared so often into
the distance with the interrogative look of his black eyes.

The crew of the steamer loved him, and he, too, loved those fine,
sun-burnt and weather-beaten fellows, who laughingly played with him.
They made fishing tackles for him, and little boats out of bark, played
with him and rowed him about the anchoring place, when Ignat went to
town on business. The bo