The whole turbid day seemed to be
hastening to meet the sun--to be seeking it.
The drawling voice of the coachman, the sound of the bells, the
humid rustle and whistle of the wind, blended in a trembling,
tortuous stream, which flowed on with a monotonous force, and
roused the wind.
"The rich man feels crowded, even in Paradise. That's the way it
is. Once he begins to oppress, the government authorities are his
friends," quoth the coachman, swaying on his seat.
While unhitching the horses at the station he said to the mother
in a hopeless voice:
"If you gave me only enough for a drink----"
She gave him a coin, and tossing it in the palm of his hand, he
informed her in the same hopeless tone:
"I'll take a drink for three coppers, and buy myself bread for two."
In the afternoon the mother, shaken up by the ride and chilled,
reached the large village of Nikolsk. She went to a tavern and
asked for tea. After placing her heavy valise under the bench, she
sat at a window and looked out into an open square, covered with
yellow, trampled grass, and into the town hall, a long, old building
with an overhanging roof. Swine were straggling about in the square,
and on the steps of the town hail sat a bald, thin-bearded peasant
smoking a pipe.
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