, as he shook hands with Pavel, and
stroked his curly hair with both hands. He looked around the room,
immediately spied the bookshelf, and walked over to it slowly.

"Went straight to them!" Rybin said, winking to Pavel.

Yefim started to examine the books, and said:

"A whole lot of reading here! But I suppose you haven't much time for
it. Down in the village they have more time for reading."

"But less desire?" Pavel asked.

"Why? They have the desire, too," answered the fellow, rubbing his
chin. "The times are so now that if you don't think, you might as well
lie down and die. But the people don't want to die; and so they've
begun to make their brains work. 'Geology'--what's that?"

Pavel explained.

"We don't need it!" Yefim said, replacing the book on the shelf.

Rybin sighed noisily, and said:

"The peasant is not so much interested to know where the land came from
as where it's gone to, how it's been snatched from underneath his feet
by the gentry. It doesn't matter to him whether it's fixed or whether
it revolves--that's of no importance--you can hang it on a rope, if you
want to, provided it feeds him; you can nail it to the skies, provided
it gives him enough to eat."

"'The History of Slavery,'" Yefim read out again, and asked Pavel: "Is
it about us?"

"Here's an account of Russian serfdom, too," said Pavel, giving him
another book. Yefim took it, turned it in his hands, and putting it
aside, said calmly:

"That's out of date."

"Have you an apportionment of land for yourself?" inquired Pavel.

"We? Yes, we have. We are three brothers, and our portion is about
ten acres and a half--all sand--good for polishing brass, but poor for
making bread." After a pause he continued: "I've freed myself from
the soil. What's the use? It does not feed; it ties one's hands.
This is the fourth year that I'm working as a hired man. I've got to
become a soldier this fall. Uncle Mikhail says: 'Don't go. Now,' he
says, 'the soldiers are being sent to beat the people.' However, I
think I'll go. The army existed at the time of Stepan Timofeyevich
Razin and Pugachev. The time has come to make an end of it. Don't you
think so?" he asked, looking firmly at Pavel.

"Yes, the tine has come." The answer was accompanied by a smile. "But
it's hard. You must know what to say to soldiers, and how to say it."

"We'll learn; we'll know how," Yefim said.

"And if the superiors catch you at it, they