tes. He sits there without
stirring. Passers-by bow to him, but he does not respond, for as of old
he dislikes the peasants. If he is asked a question he answers quite
rationally and politely, but briefly.

There is a rumour going about in the village that his daughter-in-law
turns him out of the house and gives him nothing to eat, and that he is
fed by charity; some are glad, others are sorry for him.

Varvara has grown even fatter and whiter, and as before she is active in
good works, and Aksinya does not interfere with her.

There is so much jam now that they have not time to eat it before the
fresh fruit comes in; it goes sugary, and Varvara almost sheds tears,
not knowing what to do with it.

They have begun to forget about Anisim. A letter has come from him
written in verse on a big sheet of paper as though it were a petition,
all in the same splendid handwriting. Evidently his friend Samorodov was
sharing his punishment. Under the verses in an ugly, scarcely legible
handwriting there was a single line: "I am ill here all the time; I am
wretched, for Christ's sake help me!"

Towards evening--it was a fine autumn day--old Tsybukin was sitting near
the church gates, with the collar of his fur coat turned up and nothing
of him could be seen but his nose and the peak of his cap. At the other
end of the long seat was sitting Elizarov the contractor, and beside him
Yakov the school watchman, a toothless old man of seventy. Crutch and
the watchman were talking.

"Children ought to give food and drink to the old.... Honour thy father
and mother..." Yakov was saying with irritation, "while she, this
daughter-in-law, has turned her father-in-law out of his own house; the
old man has neither food nor drink, where is he to go? He has not had a
morsel for these three days."

"Three days!" said Crutch, amazed.

"Here he sits and does not say a word. He has grown feeble. And why
be silent? He ought to prosecute her, they wouldn't flatter her in the
police court."

"Wouldn't flatter whom?" asked Crutch, not hearing.

"What?"

"The woman's all right, she does her best. In their line of business
they can't get on without that... without sin, I mean...."

"From his own house," Yakov went on with irritation. "Save up and buy
your own house, then turn people out of it! She is a nice one, to be
sure! A pla-ague!"

Tsybukin listened and did not stir.

"Whether it is your own house or others' it makes no difference so l