Two guards, irritated by
the oaths and raillery of the workingmen, examined all who entered
the gate, handling them roughly and swearing at them. A policeman
and a thin-legged man with a red face and alert eyes stood at one
side. The mother, shifting the rod resting on her shoulders, with a
pail suspended from either end of it, watched the man from the
corner of her eye. She divined that he was a spy.
A tall, curly-headed fellow with his hat thrown back over his neck,
cried to the guardsmen who searched him:
"Search the head and not the pockets, you devils!"
"There is nothing but lice on your head," retorted one of the guardsmen.
"Catching lice is an occupation more suited to you than hunting
human game!" rejoined the workman. The spy scanned him with a
rapid glance.
"Will you let me in?" asked the mother. "See, I'm bent double with
my heavy load. My back is almost breaking."
"Go in! Go in!" cried the guard sullenly. "She comes with
arguments, too."
The mother walked to her place, set her pails on the ground, and
wiping the perspiration from her face looked around her.
The Gusev brothers, the locksmiths, instantly came up to her, and
the older of them, Vasily, asked aloud, knitting his eyebrows:
"Got any pirogs?"
"I'll bring them to-morrow," she answered.
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