seen the play of hearts. You always talk about the heart. Rybin got up
a lot of steam; he upset me, crushed me. I couldn't even reply to him.
How distrustful he is of people, and how cheaply he values them!
Mother is right. That man has a formidable power in him."

"I noticed it," the Little Russian replied glumly. "They have poisoned
people. When the peasants rise up, they'll overturn absolutely
everything! They need bare land, and they will lay it bare, tear down
everything." He spoke slowly, and it was evident that his mind was on
something else. The mother cautiously tapped him on the shoulder.

"Pull yourself together, Andriusha."

"Wait a little, my dear mother, my own!" he begged softly and kindly.
"All this is so ugly--although I didn't mean to do any harm. Wait!"
And suddenly rousing himself, he said, striking the table with his
hand: "Yes, Pavel, the peasant will lay the land bare for himself when
he rises to his feet. He will burn everything up, as if after a
plague, so that all traces of his wrongs will vanish in ashes."

"And then he will get in our way," Pavel observed softly.

"It's our business to prevent that. We are nearer to him; he trusts
us; he will follow us."

"Do you know, Rybin proposes that we should publish a newspaper for the
village?"

"We must do it, too. As soon as possible."

Pavel laughed and said:

"I feel bad I didn't argue with him."

"We'll have a chance to argue with him still," the Little Russian
rejoined. "You keep on playing your flute; whoever has gay feet, if
they haven't grown into the ground, will dance to your tune. Rybin
would probably have said that we don't feel the ground under us, and
need not, either. Therefore it's our business to shake it. Shake it
once, and the people will be loosened from it; shake it once more, and
they'll tear themselves away."

The mother smiled.

"Everything seems to be simple to you, Andriusha."

"Yes, yes, it's simple," said the Little Russian, and added gloomily:
"Like life." A few minutes later he said: "I'll go take a walk in the
field."

"After the bath? The wind will blow through you," the mother warned.

"Well, I need a good airing."

"Look out, you'll catch a cold," Pavel said affectionately. "You'd
better lie down and try to sleep."

"No, I'm going." He put on his wraps, and went out without speaking.

"It's hard for him," the mother sighed.

"You know what?" Pavel observed to her. "It's ver