." And laying the palms of her hands on his head, grandmother kissed his forehead; and he--so small compared to her-- pressing his face against her shoulder, said:

"We shall have to give them their shares, Mother, that is plain."

"Yes, Father, it will have to be done."

Then they talked for a long time; amicably at first, but it was not long before grandfather began to scrape his feet on the floor like a cock before a fight, and holding up a threatening finger to grandmother, said in a fierce whisper:

"I know you! You love them more than me. . . . And what is your Mischka?--a Jesuit! And Jaaschka --a Freemason! And they live on me. . . . Hangers-on! That is all they are."

Uneasily turning on the stove, I knocked down an iron, which fell with a crash like a thunder-clap.

Grandfather jumped up on the step, dragged me down, and stared at me as if he now saw me for the first time.

"Who put you on the stove? Your mother?"

"I got up there by myself."

"You are lying!"

"No I 'm not. I did get up there by myself. I was frightened."

He pushed me away from him, lightly striking me on the head with the palm of his hand.

"Just like your father! Get out of my sight!"

And I was only too glad to run out of the kitchen.

I was very well aware that grandfather's shrewd, sharp green eyes followed me everywhere, and I was afraid of him. I remember how I always wished to hide myself from that fierce glance. It seemed to me that grandfather was malevolent; he spoke to every one mockingly and offensively, and, being provocative, did his best to put every one else out of temper.

"Ugh! You!" he exclaimed frequently.

The long-drawn-out sound "U-gh!" always reminds me of a sensation of misery and chill. In the recreation hour, the time for evening tea, when he, my uncles and the workmen came into the kitchen from the workshop weary, with their hands stained with santaline and burnt by sulphuric acid, their hair bound with linen bands, all looking like the dark-featured icon in the corner of the kitchen--in that hour of dread my grandfather used to sit opposite to me, arousing the envy of the other grandchildren by speaking to me oftener than to them. Everything about him was trenchant and to the point. His heavy satin waistcoat embroidered with silk was old; his much-scrubbed shirt of colored cotton was crumpled; great patches flaunted themselves on the knees of his trousers; and yet he 6eemed to be dressed with more cleanliness and more refinement than his sons, who wore false shirtfronts and silk neckties.

Some days after our arrival he set me to learn the prayers. All the other children were older than myself, and were already being taught to read and write by the clerk of Uspenski Church. Timid Aunt Natalia used to teach me softly. She was a woman with a childlike countenance, and such transparent eyes that it seemed to me that, looking into them, one might see what was inside her head. I loved to look into those eyes of hers without shifting my gaze and without blinking; they used to twinkle as she turned her head away and said very softly, almost in a whisper: "That will do. . . . Now please say 'Our Father, which art in Heaven, hallowed be Thy name. . . .'" And if I asked, "What does 'hallowed be Thy name' mean?" she would glance round timidly and admonish me thus: "Don't ask questions. It is wrong. Just say after me 'Our Father . .