y labor requiring the cream of thought
and talent: work priceless, indeed, so far as roubles went, but
comparing badly in actual recompense with mere, mechanical labor. The
subject still occupied him in its way, when his attention was drawn from
it to the behavior of the only person to be seen in that
little-frequented thoroughfare. This was a young man, clad in much-worn
sheepskins of the cheapest variety. His hands were uncovered--actually
bare, in an atmosphere of thirty degrees below zero! Little wonder that
Ivan's eye was caught by, and that it remained fixed on, that figure of
poverty. The stranger's gait was slow, and perceptibly unsteady. More
than once he halted, looking about him, vaguely, as if for some
resting-place. And yet, under his left arm, he was carrying, unwrapped,
a good-sized canvas.--Was he delivering it?--Or was he--Impossible! No
such person could be glorified by the title of artist! The questions
passed swiftly through Ivan's mind, and then were suddenly broken off.
As the youth came into line with Ivan's window, he reeled slightly,
caught himself, and then dropped upon the frozen walk, letting his
burden fall at his side, as his head sank into his arms.

Bah!--Only _vodka_, then. Some drunken artisan, who faced discharge on
the morrow. Ivan turned from the window; but quickly returned to it.
Vulgarly drunk the man might be. But even the fires of alcohol form
scant protection against such cold as reigned to-day. The man might be
frozen ere an officer perceived him. Moreover, as Ivan looked again,
something in the recumbent figure suggested the abandon rather of
despair than of debauchery.--An instant's hesitation. Then the watcher
caught up his own fur coat and cap, ran from the rooms, and, a moment
later, was bending over the lonely figure and placing a friendly hand
upon his shoulder.

There was a slight start. With an effort, the head lifted. Ivan was
gazing into a pair of clear, blue eyes, and realizing that there was no
taint of _vodka_ in the other's breath. Nay! That face spoke of very
different things. Youth was there, and hardship, and suffering, and
discouragement. More than that, the gaunt pallor of face and lips, the
sharp outline of jaw and cheek-bone, told of want, great and immediate.
They were signs that Ivan knew well. The fellow was in the final stages
of starvation.

In an instant, Ivan had lifted the canvas from the frozen snow, and was
helping the unhappy man to rise. Wh