r did I have any friends before I went to school. Only cousins.
Now you'll have two friends at once."

"Yes," said Foma.

"Are you glad?"

"I'm glad."

"When you have lots of friends, it is lively. And it is easier to study,
too--they prompt you."

"And are you a good pupil?"

"Of course! I do everything well," said Smolin, calmly.

The bell began to bang as though it had been frightened and was hastily
running somewhere.

Sitting in school, Foma began to feel somewhat freer, and compared his
friends with the rest of the boys. He soon learned that they both were
the very best boys in school and that they were the first to attract
everybody's attention, even as the two figures 5 and 7, which had not
yet been wiped off the blackboard. And Foma felt very much pleased that
his friends were better than any of the other boys.

They all went home from school together, but Yozhov soon turned into
some narrow side street, while Smolin walked with Foma up to his very
house, and, departing, said:

"You see, we both go home the same way, too."

At home Foma was met with pomp: his father made him a present of a heavy
silver spoon, with an ingenious monogram on it, and his aunt gave him
a scarf knitted by herself. They were awaiting him for dinner, having
prepared his favourite dishes for him, and as soon as he took off his
coat, seated him at the table and began to ply him with questions.

"Well, how was it? How did you like the school?" asked Ignat, looking
lovingly at his son's rosy, animated face.

"Pretty good. It's nice!" replied Foma.

"My darling!" sighed his aunt, with feeling, "look out, hold your own
with your friends. As soon as they offend you tell your teachers about
it."

"Go on. What else will you tell him?" Ignat smiled. "Never do that! Try
to get square with every offender yourself, punish him with your own
hand, not with somebody else's. Are there any good fellows there?"

"There are two," Foma smiled, recalling Yozhov. "One of them is so
bold--terrible!"

"Whose is he?"

"A guard's son."

"Mm! Bold did you say?"

"Dreadfully bold!"

"Well, let him be! And the other?"

"The other one is red-headed. Smolin."

"Ah! Evidently Mitry Ivanovitch's son. Stick to him, he's good company.
Mitry is a clever peasant. If the son takes after his father it is all
right. But that other one--you know, Foma, you had better invite them
to our house on Sunday. I'll buy some presents and you can treat th