before that, at Easter, he had gone to the prison with
Deniska and Ludmila the cook, and had taken the prisoners Easter
bread, eggs, cakes and roast beef. The prisoners had thanked them
and made the sign of the cross, and one of them had given Yegorushka
a pewter buckle of his own making.

The boy gazed at the familiar places, while the hateful chaise flew
by and left them all behind. After the prison he caught glimpses
of black grimy foundries, followed by the snug green cemetery
surrounded by a wall of cobblestones; white crosses and tombstones,
nestling among green cherry-trees and looking in the distance like
patches of white, peeped out gaily from behind the wall. Yegorushka
remembered that when the cherries were in blossom those white patches
melted with the flowers into a sea of white; and that when the
cherries were ripe the white tombstones and crosses were dotted
with splashes of red like bloodstains. Under the cherry trees in
the cemetery Yegorushka's father and granny, Zinaida Danilovna, lay
sleeping day and night. When Granny had died she had been put in a
long narrow coffin and two pennies had been put upon her eyes, which
would not keep shut. Up to the time of her death she had been brisk,
and used to bring soft rolls covered with poppy seeds from the
market. Now she did nothing but sleep and sleep. . . .

Beyond the cemetery came the smoking brickyards. From under the
long roofs of reeds that looked as though pressed flat to the ground,
a thick black smoke rose in great clouds and floated lazily upwards.
The sky was murky above the brickyards and the cemetery, and great
shadows from the clouds of smoke crept over the fields and across
the roads. Men and horses covered with red dust were moving about
in the smoke near the roofs.

The town ended with the brickyards and the open country began.
Yegorushka looked at the town for the last time, pressed his face
against Deniska's elbow, and wept bitterly.

"Come, not done howling yet, cry-baby!" cried Kuzmitchov. "You are
blubbering again, little milksop! If you don't want to go, stay
behind; no one is taking you by force!

"Never mind, never mind, Yegor boy, never mind," Father Christopher
muttered rapidly--"never mind, my boy. . . . Call upon God. . . .
You are not going for your harm, but for your good. Learning is
light, as the saying is, and ignorance is darkness. . . . That is
so, truly."

"Do you want to go back?" asked Kuzmitchov.

"Yes, . .