with the sleeve of
his shirt, looked at his sleeve and, heaving a sigh, maintained silence,
and when he went past Foma with the hand-harrows, two big, turbid
tears were trembling on his face, near the bridge of his nose, and Foma
noticed them.

At dinner Foma was pensive and now and then glanced at his father with
fear in his eyes.

"Why do you frown?" asked his father, gently.

"Frown?"

"Are you ill, perhaps? Be careful. If there is anything, tell me."

"You are strong," said Foma of a sudden musingly.

"I? That's right. God has favoured me with strength."

"How hard you struck him!" exclaimed the boy in a low voice, lowering
his head.

Ignat was about to put a piece of bread with caviar into his mouth,
but his hand stopped, held back by his son's exclamation; he looked
interrogatively at Foma's drooping head and asked:

"You mean Yefim, don't you?"

"Yes, he was bleeding. And how he walked afterward, how he cried," said
the boy in a low voice.

"Mm," roared Ignat, chewing a bite. "Well, are you sorry for him?"

"It's a pity!" said Foma, with tears in his voice.

"Yes. So that's the kind of a fellow you are," said Ignat.

Then, after a moment's silence, he filled a wineglass with vodka,
emptied it, and said sternly, in a slightly reprimanding tone:

"There is no reason why you should pity him. He brawled at random,
and therefore got what he deserved. I know him: he is a good fellow,
industrious, strong and not a bit foolish. But to argue is not his
business; I may argue, because I am the master. It isn't simple to be
master. A punch wouldn't kill him, but will make him wiser. That's
the way. Eh, Foma! You are an infant, and you do not understand these
things. I must teach you how to live. It may be that my days on earth
are numbered."

Ignat was silent for awhile, drank some more vodka and went on
instinctively:

"It is necessary to have pity on men. You are right in doing so. But you
must pity them sensibly. First look at a man, find out what good there
is in him, and what use may be made of him! And if you find him to
be strong and capable--pity and assist him. And if he is weak and
not inclined to work--spit upon him, pass him by. Just keep this in
mind--the man who complains against everything, who sighs and moans all
the time--that man is worth nothing; he merits no compassion and you
will do him no good whatever, even if you help him. Pity for such people
makes them more morose, spoils th