, Anna, over there we will get it. It is the
country where a muzhik is as good as a prince of the blood!"

Anna stood up, took a small earthenware jar from a side shelf, dusted it
carefully and placed it upon the mantel. From a knotted cloth about her
neck she took a ruble and dropped the coin into the jar. Big Ivan looked
at her curiously.

"It is to make legs for your Dream," she explained. "It is many versts
to America, and one rides on rubles."

"You are a good wife," he said. "I was afraid that you might laugh at
me."

"It is a great dream," she murmured. "Come, we will go to sleep."

The Dream maddened Ivan during the days that followed. It pounded
within his brain as he followed the plow. It bred a discontent that
made him hate the little village, the swift-flowing Beresina and the
gray stretches that ran toward Mogilev. He wanted to be moving, but
Anna had said that one rode on rubles, and rubles were hard to find.

And in some mysterious way the village became aware of the secret.
Donkov, the tailor, discovered it. Donkov lived in one half of the
cottage occupied by Ivan and Anna, and Donkov had long ears. The
tailor spread the news, and Poborino, the smith, and Yanansk, the
baker, would jeer at Ivan as he passed.

"When are you going to America?" they would ask.

"Soon," Ivan would answer.

"Take us with you!" they would cry in chorus.

"It is no place for cowards," Ivan would answer. "It is a long way,
and only brave men can make the journey."

"Are you brave?" the baker screamed one day as he went by.

"I am brave enough to want liberty!" cried Ivan angrily. "I am brave
enough to want--"

"Be careful! Be careful!" interrupted the smith. "A long tongue has
given many a man a train journey that he never expected."

That night Ivan and Anna counted the rubles in the earthenware pot.
The giant looked down at his wife with a gloomy face, but she smiled
and patted his hand.

"It is slow work," he said.

"We must be patient," she answered. "You have the Dream."

"Ay," he said. "I have the Dream."

Through the hot, languorous summertime the Dream grew within the
brain of Big Ivan. He saw visions in the smoky haze that hung above
the Beresina. At times he would stand, hoe in hand, and look toward
the west, the wonderful west into which the sun slipped down each
evening like a coin dropped from the fingers of the dying day.

Autumn came, and the fretful whining winds that came down from the
no