ow it's done."

"Smurov told me about your powder, only father says it's not real
gunpowder," responded Ilusha.

"Not real?" Kolya flushed. "It burns. I don't know, of course."

"No, I didn't mean that," put in the captain with a guilty face. "I only
said that real powder is not made like that, but that's nothing, it can be
made so."

"I don't know, you know best. We lighted some in a pomatum pot, it burned
splendidly, it all burnt away leaving only a tiny ash. But that was only
the paste, and if you rub it through ... but of course you know best, I
don't know.... And Bulkin's father thrashed him on account of our powder,
did you hear?" he turned to Ilusha.

"Yes," answered Ilusha. He listened to Kolya with immense interest and
enjoyment.

"We had prepared a whole bottle of it and he used to keep it under his
bed. His father saw it. He said it might explode, and thrashed him on the
spot. He was going to make a complaint against me to the masters. He is
not allowed to go about with me now, no one is allowed to go about with me
now. Smurov is not allowed to either, I've got a bad name with every one.
They say I'm a 'desperate character,' " Kolya smiled scornfully. "It all
began from what happened on the railway."

"Ah, we've heard of that exploit of yours, too," cried the captain. "How
could you lie still on the line? Is it possible you weren't the least
afraid, lying there under the train? Weren't you frightened?"

The captain was abject in his flattery of Kolya.

"N--not particularly," answered Kolya carelessly. "What's blasted my
reputation more than anything here was that cursed goose," he said,
turning again to Ilusha. But though he assumed an unconcerned air as he
talked, he still could not control himself and was continually missing the
note he tried to keep up.

"Ah! I heard about the goose!" Ilusha laughed, beaming all over. "They
told me, but I didn't understand. Did they really take you to the court?"

"The most stupid, trivial affair, they made a mountain of a molehill as
they always do," Kolya began carelessly. "I was walking through the
market-place here one day, just when they'd driven in the geese. I stopped
and looked at them. All at once a fellow, who is an errand-boy at
Plotnikov's now, looked at me and said, 'What are you looking at the geese
for?' I looked at him; he was a stupid, moon-faced fellow of twenty. I am
always on the side of the peasantry, you know. I like talking to the
peasan