ought out, gasping for breath:

"You are the worst of the lot; I can't bear you!"

After this he ought to have run to the waggons, but he could not
stir from the spot and went on:

"In the next world you will burn in hell! I'll complain to Ivan
Ivanitch. Don't you dare insult Emelyan!"

"Say this too, please," laughed Dyrnov: "'every little sucking-pig
wants to lay down the law.' Shall I pull your ear?"

Yegorushka felt that he could not breathe; and something which had
never happened to him before--he suddenly began shaking all over,
stamping his feet and crying shrilly:

"Beat him, beat him!"

Tears gushed from his eyes; he felt ashamed, and ran staggering
back to the waggon. The effect produced by his outburst he did not
see. Lying on the bales and twitching his arms and legs, he whispered:

"Mother, mother!"

And these men and the shadows round the camp fire, and the dark
bales and the far-away lightning, which was flashing every minute
in the distance--all struck him now as terrible and unfriendly.
He was overcome with terror and asked himself in despair why and
how he had come into this unknown land in the company of terrible
peasants? Where was his uncle now, where was Father Christopher,
where was Deniska? Why were they so long in coming? Hadn't they
forgotten him? At the thought that he was forgotten and cast out
to the mercy of fate, he felt such a cold chill of dread that he
had several times an impulse to jump off the bales of wool, and run
back full speed along the road; but the thought of the huge dark
crosses, which would certainly meet him on the way, and the lightning
flashing in the distance, stopped him. . . . And only when he
whispered, "Mother, mother!" he felt as it were a little better.

The waggoners must have been full of dread, too. After Yegorushka
had run away from the camp fire they sat at first for a long time
in silence, then they began speaking in hollow undertones about
something, saying that it was coming and that they must make haste
and get away from it. . . . They quickly finished supper, put out
the fire and began harnessing the horses in silence. From their
fluster and the broken phrases they uttered it was apparent they
foresaw some trouble. Before they set off on their way, Dymov went
up to Panteley and asked softly:

"What's his name?"

"Yegory," answered Panteley.

Dymov put one foot on the wheel, caught hold of the cord which was
tied round the bales and pull