bring her head to the
ground as with the dull, stunning blow of the fist. They stabbed the
heart with a thousand pricks, and called forth in her a quiet wrath,
opening her eyes and straightening her backbone.

"Children go in the world," she thought as she listened to the
unfamiliar nocturnal sounds of the city. They crept through the open
window like a sigh from afar, stirring the leaves in the garden and
faintly expiring in the room.

Early in the morning she polished up the samovar, made a fire in it,
and filled it with water, and noiselessly placed the dishes on the
table. Then she sat down in the kitchen and waited for Nikolay to
rise. Presently she heard him cough. He appeared at the door, holding
his glasses in one hand, the other hand at his throat. She responded
to his greeting, and brought the samovar into the room. He began to
wash himself, splashing the water on the floor, dropping the soap and
his toothbrush, and grumbling in dissatisfaction at himself.

When they sat down to drink tea, he said to the mother:

"I am employed in the Zemstvo board--a very sad occupation. I see the
way our peasants are going to ruin."

And smiling he repeated guiltily: "It's literally so--I see! People go
hungry, they lie down in their graves prematurely, starved to death,
children are born feeble and sick, and drop like flies in autumn--we
know all this, we know the causes of this wretchedness, and for
observing it we receive a good salary. But that's all we do, really;
truly all we do."

"And what are you, a student?"

"No. I'm a village teacher. My father was superintendent in a mill in
Vyatka, and I became a teacher. But I began to give books to the
peasants in the village, and was put in prison for it. When I came out
of prison I became clerk in a bookstore, but not behaving carefully
enough I got myself into prison again, and was then exiled to
Archangel. There I also got into trouble with the governor, and they
sent me to the White Sea coast, where I lived for five years."

His talk sounded calm and even in the bright room flooded with
sunlight. The mother had already heard many such stories; but she
could never understand why they were related with such composure, why
no blame was laid on anybody for the suffering the people had gone
through, why these sufferings were regarded as so inevitable.

"My sister is coming to-day," he announced.

"Is she married?"

"She's a widow. Her husband wa