And now after this meeting with Roubovsky, as Peredonov was walking past Vershina’s, she, dressed in black as usual, enticed him in.
“Marta and Vladya are going home for the day,” she said, looking tenderly at Peredonov with her cinnamon-coloured eyes through the smoke of her cigarette. “It wouldn’t be a bad idea for you to spend the day with them in the village. A workman had just come in a cart for them.”
“There isn’t enough room,” said Peredonov morosely.
“I think you could manage it,” said Vershina, “and even if you have to squeeze in a little, it won’t be a great hardship—you’ve only got six versts to go.”
Meanwhile Marta ran out of the house to ask Vershina something. The excitement of getting off dissipated her usual languor and her face was livelier and more cheerful. They both tried to persuade Peredonov to go.
“You’ll manage quite comfortably,” Vershina assured him; “you and Marta can sit at the back, and Vladya and Ignaty in front. Look, there’s the cart in the yard now.”
Peredonov followed them into the yard where the cart was standing. Vladya was fussing about, putting various things in it. The cart was quite a large one, but Peredonov morosely surveyed it and announced:
“I’m not going. There isn’t enough room. There are four of us and those things besides.”
“Well, if you think it’s going to be a tight squeeze,” said Varshina, “Vladya can go on foot.”
“Of course,” said Vladya, with a suppressed grin. “I’ll start at once and I’ll get there before you.”
Then Peredonov declared that the cart would jolt and that he did not like jolts. They returned to the summerhouse. Everything was ready, but Ignaty was still in the kitchen eating slowly and solidly.
“How does Vladya get on with his lessons?” asked Marta.
She did not know what else to talk about with Peredonov, and Vershina had more than once reproached her for not knowing how to entertain him.
“Badly,” said Peredonov; “he’s lazy and doesn’t pay attention.”
Vershina loved to grumble. She began to scold Vladya.
The boy flushed and smiled, and shrivelled into his clothes as if he were cold, lifting one shoulder higher than the other, as his habit was.
“The year has only just begun,” he said, “I’ve got plenty of time to catch up.”
“You ought to start from the very beginning,” said Marta in a very grownup way, which slightly embarrassed her.
“Yes, he’s always in mischief,” said Peredonov. “Only yesterday, he was running about with some of the others as if they were street boys. He’s impertinent too. Last Thursday he was quite cheeky to me.”
Vladya suddenly flushed up with indignation, yet still smiled, and said:
“I wasn’t impertinent. I only told the truth. The other copybooks had five mistakes not marked, and all mine were marked. And I only got two though mine was better than the boys who got three.”
“And that wasn’t the only time you were impertinent,” persisted Peredonov.
“I wasn’t impertinent, I only said that I would tell the inspector,” said Vladya heatedly.
“Vladya, you forget yourself!” said Vershina angrily; “instead of apologising you’re only repeating what you said.”
Vladya suddenly remembered that he ought not to provoke Peredonov, as he might marry Marta. He grew even redder and in his confusion shifted his belt and said timidly:
“I’m sorry. I only meant to ask you to make the correction.”
“Be quiet, please!” interrupted Vershina. “I can’t stand such wrangling—I really can’t,” she repeated, and her thin body trembled almost imperceptibly. “You’re being spoken to, so be silent,” and Vershina poured out on Vladya many reproachful words, puffing at her cigarette and smiling her wry smile, as she usually did when she was talking, no matter what the subject was.
“We shall have to tell your father, so that he can punish you,” she concluded.
“He needs birching,” suggested Peredonov, and looked angrily at the offending Vladya.
“Certainly,” agreed Vershina. “He needs birching.”
“He needs birching,” repeated Marta and blushed.
“I’m going with you to your father today,” said Peredonov, “and I’ll see that he gives you a good birching.”
Vladya looked silently at his tormentors, shrank within himself and smiled through his tears. His father was a harsh man. Vladya tried to console himself with the thought that these were only threats. Surely, he thought, they would not really spoil his holiday. For a holiday was a specially happy occasion and not a schoolday affair.
But Peredonov was always pleased when he saw boys cry, especially when he so arranged it that they cried and apologised at the same time. Vladya’s confusion, the suppressed tears in his eyes and his timid, guilty smile, all these gave Peredonov joy. He decided to accompany Marta and Vladya.
“Very well, I’ll come with you,” he said to Marta.
Marta was glad but a little frightened. Of course she wanted Peredonov to go with them, or it would perhaps be more truthful to say that Vershina wanted it for her, and had instilled the desire into her by suggestion. But now that Peredonov said that he would come, Marta somehow felt uneasy on Vladya’s account—she felt sorry for him.
Vladya also became sad. Surely Peredonov was not going on his account? In the hope of appeasing Peredonov, he said:
“If you think, Ardalyon Borisitch, that it will be a tight squeeze, then I will go on foot.”
Peredonov looked at him suspiciously and said:
“That’s all very well, but if I let you go alone, you’ll run away somewhere. No, I think we had better take you to your father and he’ll give you what you deserve!”
Vladya flushed once more and sighed. He began to feel uneasy and depressed, and indignant at this cruel, morose man. To soften Peredonov’s heart, he decided to make his seat more comfortable.
“I’ll make it so that you won’t
