The mother fell quickly into a calm sleep, and rose early in the morning, awakened by a subdued tap at the kitchen door. The knock was incessant and patiently persistent. It was still dark and quiet, and the rapping broke in alarmingly on the stillness. Dressing herself rapidly, she walked out into the kitchen, and standing at the door asked:

“Who’s there?”

“I,” answered an unfamiliar voice.

“Who?”

“Open.” The quiet word was spoken in entreaty.

The mother lifted the hook, pushed the door with her foot, and Ignaty entered, saying cheerfully:

“Well, so I’m not mistaken. I’m at the right place.”

He was spattered with mud up to his belt. His face was gray, his eyes fallen.

“We’ve gotten into trouble in our place,” he whispered, locking the door behind him.

“I know it.”

The reply astonished the young man. He blinked and asked:

“How? Where from?”

She explained in a few rapid words, and asked:

“Did they take the other comrades, too?”

“They weren’t there. They had gone off to be recruited. Five were captured, including Rybin.”

He snuffled and said, smiling:

“And I was left over. I guess they’re looking for me. Let them look. I’m not going back there again, not for anything. There are other people there yet, some seven young men and a girl. Never mind! They’re all reliable.”

“How did you find this place?” The mother smiled.

The door from the room opened quietly.

“I?” Seating himself on a bench and looking around, Ignaty exclaimed: “They crawled up at night, straight to the tar works. Well, a minute before they came the forester ran up to us and knocked on the window. ‘Look out, boys,’ says he, ‘they’re coming on you.’”

He laughed softly, wiped his face with the flap of his coat, and continued:

“Well, they can’t stun Uncle Mikhail even with a hammer. At once he says to me, ‘Ignaty, run away to the city, quick! You remember the elderly woman.’ And he himself writes a note. ‘There, go! Good-by, brother.’ He pushed me in the back. I flung out of the hut. I scrambled along on all fours through the bushes, and I hear them coming. There must have been a lot of them. You could hear the rustling on all sides, the devils — like a moose around the tar works. I lay in the bushes. They passed by me. Then I rose and off I went; and for two nights and a whole day I walked without stopping. My feet’ll ache for a week.”

He was evidently satisfied with himself. A smile shone in his hazel eyes. His full red lips quivered.

“I’ll set you up with some tea soon. You wash yourself while I get the samovar ready.”

“I’ll give you the note.” He raised his leg with difficulty, and frowning and groaning put his foot on the bench and began to untie the leg wrappings.

“I got frightened. ‘Well,’ thinks I, ‘I’m a goner.’”

Nikolay appeared at the door. Ignaty in embarrassment dropped his foot to the floor and wanted to rise, but staggered and fell heavily on the bench, catching himself with his hands.

“You sit still!” exclaimed the mother.

“How do you do, comrade?” said Nikolay, screwing up his eyes good-naturedly and nodding his head. “Allow me, I’ll help you.”

Kneeling on the floor in front of the peasant, he quickly unwound the dirty, damp wrappings.

“Well!” the fellow exclaimed quietly, pulling back his foot and blinking in astonishment. He regarded the mother, who said, without paying attention to his look:

“His legs ought to be rubbed down with alcohol.”

“Of course!” said Nikolay.

Ignaty snorted in embarrassment. Nikolay found the note, straightened it out, looked at it, and handed the gray, crumpled piece of paper to the mother.

“For you.”

“Read it.”

“‘Mother, don’t let the affair go without your attention. Tell the tall lady not to forget to have them write more for our cause, I beg of you. Good-by. Rybin.’”

“My darling!” said the mother sadly. “They’ve already seized him by the throat, and he ——”

Nikolay slowly dropped his hand holding the note.

“That’s magnificent!” he said slowly and respectfully. “It both touches and teaches.”

Ignaty looked at them, and quietly shook his bared feet with his dirty hands. The mother, covering her tearful face, walked up to him with a basin of water, sat down on the floor, and stretched out her hands to his feet. But he quickly thrust them under the bench, exclaiming in fright:

“What are you going to do?”

“Give me your foot, quick!”

“I’ll bring the alcohol at once,” said Nikolay.

The young man shoved his foot still farther under the bench and mumbled:

“What ARE you going to do? It’s not proper.”

Then the mother silently unbared his other foot. Ignaty’s round face lengthened in amazement. He looked around helplessly with his wide-open eyes.

“Why, it’s going to tickle me!”

“You’ll be able to bear it,” answered the mother, beginning to wash his feet.

Ignaty snorted aloud, and moving his neck awkwardly looked down at her, comically drooping his under lip.

“And do you know,” she said tremulously, “that they beat Mikhail Ivanovich?”

“What?” the peasant exclaimed in fright.

“Yes; he had been beaten when they led him to the village, and in Nikolsk the sergeant beat him, the police commissioner beat him in the face and kicked him till he bled.” The mother became silent, overwhelmed by her recollections.

“They can do it,” said the peasant, lowering his brows sullenly. His shoulders shook. “That is, I fear them like the devils. And the peasants — didn’t the peasants beat him?”

“One beat him. The police commissioner ordered him to. All the others were so so — they even took his part. ‘You mustn’t beat him!’ they said.”

“Um! Yes, yes! The peasants are beginning to realize where a man stands, and for what he stands.”

“There are sensible people there, too.”

“Where can’t you find sensible people? Necessity! They’re everywhere; but it’s hard to get at them. They hide themselves in chinks and crevices, and suck their hearts out each one for himself. Their resolution isn’t strong enough to make them gather into a group.”

Nikolay brought a bottle of alcohol, put coals in the samovar, and walked away silently. Ignaty accompanied him with a curious look.

“A gentleman?”

“In this business there are no masters; they’re all comrades!”

“It’s strange to me,” said Ignaty with a skeptical but embarrassed smile.

“What’s strange?”

“This: at one end they beat you in the face; at the other they wash your feet. Is there a middle of any kind?”

The door of the room was flung open and Nikolay, standing on the threshold, said:

“And in the middle stand the people who lick the hands of those who beat you in the face and suck the blood of those whose faces are beaten. That’s the middle!”

Ignaty looked at him respectfully, and after a pause said: “That’s it!”

The mother sighed. “Mikhail Ivanovich also always used to say, ‘That’s it!’ like an ax blow.”

“Nilovna, you’re evidently tired. Permit me — I——”

The peasant pulled his feet uneasily.

“That’ll do;” said the mother, rising. “Well, Ignaty, now wash yourself.”

The young man arose, shifted his feet about, and stepped firmly on the floor.

“They seem like new feet. Thank you! Many, many thanks!”

He drew a wry face, his lips trembled, and his eyes reddened. After a pause, during which he regarded the basin of black water, he whispered softly:

“I don’t even know how to thank you!”

Then they sat down to the table to drink tea. And Ignaty soberly began:

“I was the distributor of literature, a very strong fellow at walking. Uncle Mikhail gave me the job. ‘Distribute!’ says he; ‘and if you get caught you’re alone.’”

“Do many people read?” asked Nikolay.

“All who can. Even some of the rich read. Of course, they don’t get it from us. They’d clap us right into chains if they did! They understand that this is a slipknot for them in all ages.”

“Why a slipknot?”

“What else!” exclaimed Ignaty in amazement. “Why, the peasants are themselves going to take the land from everyone else. They’ll wash it out with their blood from under the gentry and the rich; that is to say, they themselves are going to divide it, and divide it so that there won’t be masters or workingmen anymore. How then? What’s the use of getting into a scrap if not for that?”

Ignaty even seemed to be offended. He looked at Nikolay mistrustfully and skeptically. Nikolay smiled.

“Don’t get angry,” said the mother jokingly.

Nikolay thoughtfully exclaimed:

“How shall we get the leaflets about Rybin’s arrest to the village?” Ignaty grew attentive.

“I’ll speak to Vyesovshchikov to-day.”

“Is there a leaflet already?” asked Ignaty.

“Yes.”

“Give it to me. I’ll take it.” Ignaty rubbed his hands at the suggestion, his eyes flashing. “I know where and how. Let me.”

The mother laughed quietly, without looking at him.

“Why, you’re tired and afraid, and you said you’d never go there again!”

Ignaty smacked his lips and stroked his curly hair with his broad palm.

“I’m tired; I’ll rest; and of course I’m afraid!” His manner was businesslike and calm. “They beat a man until the blood comes, as you yourself say — then who wants to be mutilated? But I’ll pull through somehow at night. Never mind! Give me the leaflets; this evening I’ll get on the go.” He was silent, thought a while, his eyebrows working. “I’ll go to the forest; I’ll hide the literature, and then I’ll notify our fellows: ‘Go get it.’ That’s better. If I myself should distribute them I might fall into the hands of the police, and it would be a pity for the leaflets. You must act carefully here. There are not many such leaflets!”

“And how about your fear?” the mother observed again with a smile. This curly-haired, robust fellow put her into a good humor by his sincerity, which sounded in his every word, and shone from his round, determined face.

“Fear is fear, and business is business!” he answered with a grin. “Why are you laughing at me, eh? You, too! Why, isn’t it natural to be afraid in this matter? Well, and if it’s necessary a man’ll go into a fire. Such an affair, it requires it.”

“Ah, you, my child!”

Ignaty, embarrassed, smiled. “Well, there you are — child!” he said.

Nikolay began to speak, all the time looking good-naturedly with screwed-up eyes at the young peasant.

“You’re not going there!”

“Then what’ll I do? Where am I to be?” Ignaty asked uneasily.

“Another fellow will go in place of you. And you’ll tell him in detail what to do and how to do it.”

“All right!” said Ignaty. But his consent was not given at once, and then only reluctantly.

“And for you we’ll obtain a good passport and make you a forester.”

The young fellow quickly threw back his head and asked uneasily:

“But if the peasants come there for wood, or there — in general — what’ll I do? Bind them? That doesn’t suit me.”

The mother laughed, and Nikolay, too. This again confused and vexed Ignaty.

“Don’t be uneasy!” Nikolay soothed him. “You won’t have to bind peasants. You trust us.”

“Well, well,” said Ignaty, set at ease, smiling at Nikolay with confidence and merriness in his eyes. “If you could get me to the factory. There, they say, the fellows are mighty smart.”

A fire seemed to be ever burning in his broad chest, unsteady as yet, not confident in its own power. It flashed brightly in his eyes, forced out from within; but suddenly it would nearly expire in fright and flicker behind the smoke of perplexed alarm and embarrassment.

The mother rose from behind the table, and looking through the window reflected:

“Ah, life! Five times in the day you laugh and five times you weep. All right. Well, are you through, Ignaty? Go to bed and sleep.”

“But I don’t want to.”

“Go on, go on!”

“You’re stern in this place. Thank you for the tea, for the sugar, for the kindness.”

Lying down in the mother’s bed he mumbled, scratching his head:

“Now everything’ll smell of tar in your place. Ah, it’s all for nothing all this — plain coddling! I don’t want to sleep. You’re good people, yes. It’s more than I can understand — as if I’d gotten a hundred thousand miles away from the village — how he hit it off about the middle — and in the middle are the people who lick the hands — of those who beat the faces — um, yes.”

And suddenly he gave a loud short snore and dropped off to sleep, with eyebrows raised high and half-open mouth.

Late at night he sat in a little room of a basement at a table opposite Vyesovshchikov. He said in a subdued tone, knitting his brows:

“On the middle window, four times.”

“Four.”

“At first three times like thi............