Finally she sat down exhausted
on the bench in the kitchen, putting the books under her; and she
remained in that position, afraid to rise, until Pavel and the
Little Russian returned from the factory.
"Do you know?" she exclaimed without rising.
"We know!" said Pavel with a composed smile. "Are you afraid?"
"Oh, I'm so afraid, so afraid!"
"You needn't be afraid," said the Little Russian. "That won't
help anybody."
"Didn't even prepare the samovar," remarked Pavel.
The mother rose, and pointed to the books with a guilty air.
"You see, it was on account of them--all the time--I was----"
The son and the Little Russian burst into laughter; and this
relieved her. Then Pavel picked out some books and carried them
out into the yard to hide them, while the Little Russian remained
to prepare the samovar.
"There's nothing terrible at all in this, mother. It's only a
shame for people to occupy themselves with such nonsense. Grown-up
men in gray come in with sabers at their sides, with spurs on their
feet, and rummage around, and dig up and search everything. They
look under the bed, and climb up to the garret; if there is a cellar
they crawl down into it.
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