e people. It was they who had shown her son the road he was
going.

On Saturday night Pavel came from the factory, washed himself, put on
clean clothes, and when walking out of the house said to his mother
without looking at her:

"When they come, tell them I'll be back soon. Let them wait a while.
And please don't be afraid. They are people like all other people."

She sank into her seat almost fainting.

Her son looked at her soberly. "Maybe you'd better go away somewhere,"
he suggested.

The thought offended her. Shaking her head in dissent, she said:

"No, it's all the same. What for?"

It was the end of November. During the day a dry, fine snow had fallen
upon the frozen earth, and now she heard it crunching outside the
window under her son's feet as he walked away. A dense crust of
darkness settled immovably upon the window panes, and seemed to lie in
hostile watch for something. Supporting herself on the bench, the
mother sat and waited, looking at the door.

It seemed to her that people were stealthily and watchfully walking
about the house in the darkness, stooping and looking about on all
sides, strangely attired and silent. There around the house some one
was already coming, fumbling with his hands along the wall.

A whistle was heard. It circled around like the notes of a fine chord,
sad and melodious, wandered musingly into the wilderness of darkness,
and seemed to be searching for something. It came nearer. Suddenly it
died away under the window, as if it had entered into the wood of the
wall. The noise of feet was heard on the porch. The mother started,
and rose with a strained, frightened look in her eyes.

The door opened. At first a head with a big, shaggy hat thrust itself
into the room; then a slender, bending body crawled in, straightened
itself out, and deliberately raised its right hand.

"Good evening!" said the man, in a thick, bass voice, breathing heavily.

The mother bowed in silence.

"Pavel is not at home yet?"

The stranger leisurely removed his short fur jacket, raised one foot,
whipped the snow from his boot with his hat, then did the same with the
other foot, flung his hat into a corner, and rocking on his thin legs
walked into the room, looking back at the imprints he left on the
floor. He approached the table, examined it as if to satisfy himself
of its solidity, and finally sat down and, covering his mouth with his
hand, yawned. His head was perfectl