'You will grow ever so big, ever so big. You will be a peasant, we'll go out to work together.'
'There she is at it again!'
Lipa, with Nikifor in her arms, stood still in the doorway and asked:
'Why do I love him so much, mamma? Why do I feel so sorry for him?' she went on in a quivering voice, and her eyes glistened with tears. 'Who is he? What is he like? As light as a little feather, as a little crumb, but I love him; I love him like a real person. Here he can do nothing, he can't talk, and yet I know what he wants with his little eyes.'
Varvara was listening; the sound of the evening train coming in to the station reached her. Had her husband come? She did not hear and she did not heed what Lipa was saying, she had no idea how the time passed, but only trembled all over—not from dread, but intense curiosity. She saw a cart full of peasants roll quickly by with a rattle. It was the witnesses coming back from the station. When the cart passed the shop the old workman jumped out and walked into the yard. She could hear him being greeted in the yard and being asked some questions....
'Deprivation of rights and all his property,' he said loudly, 'and six years' penal servitude in Siberia.'
She could see Aksinya come out of the shop by the back way; she had just been selling kerosene, and in one hand held a bottle and in the other a can, and in her mouth she had some silver coins.
'Where is father?' she asked, lisping.
'At the station,' answered the labourer. ''When it gets a little darker,' he said, 'then I shall come.''
And when it became known all through the household that Anisim was sentenced to penal servitude, the cook in the kitchen suddenly broke into a wail as though at a funeral, imagining that this was demanded by the proprieties:
'There is no one to care for us now you have gone, Anisim Grigoritch, our bright falcon....'
The dogs began barking in alarm. Varvara ran to the window, and rushing about in distress, shouted to the cook with all her might, straining her voice:
'Sto-op, Stepanida, sto-op! Don't harrow us, for Christ's sake!'
They forgot to set the samovar, they could think of nothing. Only Lipa could not make out what it was all about and went on playing with her baby.
When the old father arrived from the station they asked him no questions. He greeted them and walked through all the rooms in silence; he had no supper.
'There was no one to see about things...' Varvara began when they were alone. 'I said you should have asked some of the gentry, you would not heed me at the time.... A petition would...'
'I saw to things,' said her husband with a wave of his hand. 'When Anisim was condemned I went to the gentleman who was defending him. 'It's no use now,' he said, 'it's too late'; and Anisim said the same; it's too late. But all the same as I came out of the court I made an agreement with a lawyer, I paid him something in advance. I'll wait a week and then I will go again. It is as God wills.'
Again the old man walked through all the rooms, and when he went back to Varvara he said:
'I must be ill. My head's in a sort of... fog. My thoughts are in a maze.'
He closed the door that Lipa might not hear, and went on softly:
'I am unhappy about my money. Do you remember on Low Sunday before his wedding Anisim's bringing me some new roubles and half-roubles? One parcel I put away at the time, but the others I mixed with my own money. When my uncle Dmitri Filatitch—the kingdom of heaven be his—was alive, he used constantly to go journeys to Moscow and to the Crimea to buy goods. He had a wife, and this same wife, when he was away buying goods, used to take up with other men. She had half a dozen children. And when uncle was in his cups he would laugh and say: 'I never can make out,' he used to say, 'which are my children and which are other people's.' An easy-going disposition, to be sure; and so I now can't distinguish which are genuine roubles and which are false ones. And it seems to me that they are all false.'
'Nonsense, God bless you.'
'I take a ticket at the station, I give the man three roubles, and I keep fancying they are false. And I am frightened. I must be ill.'
'There's no denying it, we are all in God's hands.... Oh dear, dear...' said Varvara, and she shook her head. 'You ought to think about this, Grigory Petrovitch: you never know, anything may happen, you are not a young man. See they don't wrong your grandchild when you are dead and gone. Oy, I am afraid they will be unfair to Nikifor! He has as good as no father, his mother's young and foolish... you ought to secure something for him, poor little boy, at least the land, Butyokino, Grigory Petrovitch, really! Think it over!' Varvara went on persuading him. 'The pretty boy, one is sorry for him! You go to-morrow and make out a deed; why put it off?'
'I'd forgotten about my grandson,' said Tsybukin. 'I must go and have a look at him. So you say the boy is all right? Well, let him grow up, please God.'
He opened the door and, crooking his finger, beckoned to Lipa. She went up to him with the baby in her arms.
'If there is anything you want, Lipinka, you ask for it,' he said. 'And eat anything you like, we don't grudge it, so long as it does you good....' He made the sign of the cross over the baby. 'And take care of my grandchild. My son is gone, but my grandson is left.'
Tears rolled down his cheeks; he gave a sob and went away. Soon afterwards he went to bed and slept soundly after seven sleepless nights.
VII
Old Tsybukin went to the town for a short time. Someone told Aksinya that he had gone to the notary to make his will and that he was leaving Butyokino, the very place where she had set up a brickyard, to Nikifor, his grandson. She was informed of this in the morning when old Tsybukin and Varvara were sitting near the steps under the birch-tree, drinking their tea. She closed the shop in the front and at the back, gathered together all the keys she had, and flung them at her father-in-law's feet.
'I am not going on working for you,' she began in a loud voice, and suddenly broke into sobs. 'It seems I am not your daughter-in-law, but a servant! Everybody's jeering and saying, 'See what a servant the Tsybukins have got hold of!' I did not come to you for wages! I am not a beggar, I am not a slave, I have a father and mother.'
She did not wipe away her tears, she fixed upon her father-in-law eyes full of tears, vindictive, squinting with wrath; her face and neck were red and tense, and she was shouting at the top of her voice.
'I don't mean to go on being a slave!' she went on. 'I am worn out. When it is work, when it is sitting in the shop day in and day out, scurrying out at night for vodka—then it is my share, but when it is giving away the land then it is for that convict's wife and her imp. She is mistress here, and I am her servant. Give her everything, the convict's wife, and may it choke her! I am going home! Find yourselves some other fool, you damned Herods!'
Tsybukin had never in his life scolded or punished his children, and had never dreamed that one of his family could speak to him rudely or behave disrespectfully; and now he was very much frightened; he ran into the house and there hid behind the cupboard. And Varvara was so much flustered that she could not get up from her seat, and only waved her hands before her as though she were warding off a bee.
'Oh, Holy Saints! what's the meaning of it?' she muttered in horror. 'What is she shouting? Oh, dear, dear!... People will hear! Hush. Oh, hush!'
'He has given Butyokino to the convict's wife,' Aksinya went on bawling. 'Give her everything now, I don't want anything from you! Let me alone! You are all a gang of thieves here! I have seen my fill of it, I have had enough! You have robbed folks coming in and going out; you have robbed old and young alike, you brigands! And who has been selling vodka without a licence? And false money? You've filled boxes full of false coins, and now I am no more use!'
A crowd had by now collected at the open gate and was staring into the yard.
'Let the people look,' bawled Aksinya. 'I will shame you all! You shall burn with shame! You shall grovel at my feet. Hey! Stepan,' she called to the deaf man, 'let us go home this minute! Let us go to my father and mother; I don't want to live with convicts. Get ready!'
Clothes were hanging on lines stretched across the yard; she snatched off her petticoats and blouses still wet and flung them into the deaf man's arms. Then in her fury she dashed about the yard by the linen, tore down all of it, and what was not hers she threw on the ground and trampled upon.
'Holy Saints, take her away,' moaned Varvara. 'What a woman! Give her Butyokino! Give it her, for the Lord's
