under the van
again, and it seems as though the train had moved back a little.

"There will be another jolt in a minute," says the old man. And the
convulsive quiver does, in fact, run along the train, there is a
crashing sound and the bullocks fall on one another again.

"It's a job!" says Yasha, listening. "The train must be heavy. It seems
it won't move."

"It was not heavy before, but now it has suddenly got heavy. No, my
lad, the guard has not gone shares with him, I expect. Go and take him
something, or he will be jolting us till morning."

Yasha takes a three-rouble note from the old man and jumps out of the
van. The dull thud of his heavy footsteps resounds outside the van and
gradually dies away. Stillness.... In the next van a bullock utters a
prolonged subdued "moo," as though it were singing.

Yasha comes back. A cold damp wind darts into the van.

"Shut the door, Yasha, and we will go to bed," says the old man. "Why
burn a candle for nothing?"

Yasha moves the heavy door; there is a sound of a whistle, the engine
and the train set off.

"It's cold," mutters the old man, stretching himself on the cape and
laying his head on a bundle. "It is very different at home! It's warm
and clean and soft, and there is room to say your prayers, but here
we are worse off than any pigs. It's four days and nights since I have
taken off my boots."

Yasha, staggering from the jolting of the train, opens the lantern and
snuffs out the wick with his wet fingers. The light flares up, hisses
like a frying pan and goes out.

"Yes, my lad," Malahin goes on, as he feels Yasha lie down beside him
and the young man's huge back huddle against his own, "it's cold. There
is a draught from every crack. If your mother or your sister were to
sleep here for one night they would be dead by morning. There it is, my
lad, you wouldn't study and go to the high school like your brothers, so
you must take the cattle with your father. It's your own fault, you have
only yourself to blame.... Your brothers are asleep in their beds
now, they are snug under the bedclothes, but you, the careless and lazy
one, are in the same box as the cattle.... Yes.... "

The old man's words are inaudible in the noise of the train, but for a
long time he goes on muttering, sighing and clearing his throat....
The cold air in the railway van grows thicker and more stifling The
pungent odor of fresh dung and smoldering candle makes it so repulsive
and acri