hat death is sometimes a holiday for one, sometimes it is a blessing
for all."

"Papa."

"Sleep, sleep, dear."

CHAPTER III

DURING the very first day of his school life, stupefied by the lively
and hearty noise of provoking mischiefs and of wild, childish games,
Foma picked out two boys from the crowd who at once seemed more
interesting to him than the others. One had a seat in front of him.
Foma, looking askance, saw a broad back; a full neck, covered with
freckles; big ears; and the back of the head closely cropped, covered
with light-red hair which stood out like bristles.

When the teacher, a bald-headed man, whose lower lip hung down, called
out: "Smolin, African!" the red-headed boy arose slowly, walked up to
the teacher, calmly stared into his face, and, having listened to the
problem, carefully began to make big round figures on the blackboard
with chalk.

"Good enough!" said the teacher. "Yozhov, Nicolai. Proceed!"

One of Foma's neighbours, a fidgety little boy with black little
mouse-eyes, jumped up from his seat and passed through the aisle,
striking against everything and turning his head on all sides. At the
blackboard he seized the chalk, and, standing up on the toes of his
boots, noisily began to mark the board with the chalk, creaking and
filling with chalk dust, dashing off small, illegible marks.

"Not so loud!" said the teacher, wrinkling his yellow face and
contracting his fatigued eyes. Yozhov spoke quickly and in a ringing
voice:

"Now we know that the first peddler made 17k. profit."

"Enough! Gordyeeff! Tell me what must we do in order to find out how
much the second peddler gained?"

Watching the conduct of the boys, so unlike each other, Foma was thus
taken unawares by the question and he kept quiet.

"Don't you know? How? Explain it to him, Smolin."

Having carefully wiped his fingers, which had been soiled with chalk,
Smolin put the rag away, and, without looking at Foma, finished the
problem and again began to wipe his hands, while Yozhov, smiling and
skipping along as he walked, returned to his seat.

"Eh, you!" he whispered, seating himself beside Foma, incidentally
striking his side with his fist. "Why don't you know it? What was the
profit altogether? Thirty kopecks. And there were two peddlers. One of
them got 17. Well, how much did the other one get?"

"I know," replied Foma, in a whisper, feeling confused and examining the
face of Smolin, who was sedately ret