"Ah, you are young yet, comrade," he said. "You haven't eaten
enough onions yet. Everyone has a mother, none the less people are
bad. For although it is hard to rear children, it is still harder
to teach a man to be good."
"What strange ideas he has," the mother thought, and for a moment
she felt like contradicting the Little Russian and telling him that
here was she who would have been glad to teach her son good, but
knew nothing herself. The door, however, opened and in came Nikolay
Vyesovshchikov, the son of the old thief Daniel, known in the
village as a misanthrope. He always kept at a sullen distance from
people, who retaliated by making sport of him.
"You, Nikolay! How's that?" she asked in surprise.
Without replying he merely looked at the mother with his little
gray eyes, and wiped his pockmarked, high-cheeked face with the
broad palm of his hand.
"Is Pavel at home?" he asked hoarsely.
"No."
He looked into the room and said:
"Good evening, comrades."
"He, too. Is it possible?" wondered the mother resentfully, and
was greatly surprised to see Natasha put her hand out to him in
a kind, glad welcome.
The next to come were two young men, scarcely more than boys.
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