He took off his cassock, stroked his chest, and without haste undid his parcel, whereupon Egorooshka saw a small tin of soft caviar, a bit of dried sturgeon, and some French roll.
"There, I went past a fish-shop and bought this," said Father Christopher. "One can't live sumptuously every work and week-day, was my thought, and at home nothing like it, so it is as it were excusable. It's good caviar too—it's sturgeon."
The man in the white shirt brought in the samovar and some plates on a tray.
"Here, eat," said Father Christopher, spreading some caviar on a slice of bread and handing it to Egorooshka; "but then go for a walk—the time for your studies is drawing near. Kow see, learn carefully and diligently, that there be some result. If it is learning by heart, learn by heart, and if it is to express thoughts in your own words, no matter the form, use yo11r own words. But strive to learn all there is to be learnt. Some know mathematics very well, and never heard of Peter the Hermit: others have heard of Peter the Hermit, and cannot explain the moon. That won't do; try to learn sc. that you understand it all! Learn Latin, French, German, Geography of course—History, Theology, Philosophy, Mathematics. . . • And when you have learnt it all. not with undue haste, but with prayers and with zeal, then entei the service. When you know evervthing, any career is easy to you. Only study;'' acquire these blessings, and God will show you what you are to do—whether it is doctor or judge or engineer or what. . • ." Father Christopher spread a lit- tle caviar on a small slice of bread, placed it in his mouth, and said:
"The Apostle Paul says: 'Strive not after strange and diverse learnings.' Of course, should it be black magic, idle talk of calling-up spirits from the world beyond, like Saul, )r such like sciences, no use in themselves or to people, then it is better not to learn. It is necessary to discriminate what is favourable unto God. Do like this. . . . The holy Apostles spoke in all languages, therefore you learn languages. Vassili the Great taught mathematics and philosophy, therefore learn these; Saint Nestor wrote history, therefore learn and write history. Do as the saints did.''
Father Christopher sipped out of his saucer, wiped his lips, &.nd slowly turned his head.
"Good!" he said. "Formerly I learnt a lot. I've forgotten a good deal, yet all the same I live differently from the rest— one can't even make a comparison. For instance, if in com- pany after dinner, or at some assembly or other, someone quotes in Latin, or speaks of history or philosophy, people like it, and I too like it . . . or even when the District Judge comes round, and they have .o swear in, all the other priests are embarrassed, but I am hail-fellow with the judge and the procurators and the attorneys; I can talk learnedly with them, I have tea with them, we joke, I tell them things they don't know . . . and they like it. So there it is, lad. Learning is !ight, and ignorance darkness. Study! It is hard, of course. At the present time it is difficult to dispense with learning.
. . Your mamma is a widow, lives on a pension, and you see besides . . .''
Father Christopher looked apprehensively towards thp <Joor, and continued in a low tone:
"Ivan Ivanitch will help. He won't forsake you. He has no children of his own, and he will help you—don't worry!" He looked very grave, and pursued, in a still lower tone: "Only look, Egorie, God forbid that you should forget your mother and Ivan Ivanitch. Honour your mother is one of the Ten Commandments, and Ivan Ivanitch is your bene- factor and takes the place of your father; for if you really become learned, God forfend that you should be annoyed or set people at naught by reason of their being stupider than you, for then woe, woe to you!" Father Christopher raised his hand aloft, and repeated in a shrill voice: "Woe! Woe to you! "
Father Christopher, having got into his talking mood, was quite wound up, and would not have finished till dinner-time had not the door opened, and Ivan Ivanitch walked in. Uncle hastily greeted them, sat down at tbe table, and quickly began gulping down his tea.
"Well, all the business is done," he said. "We ought to go back home to-day, but then there is more bother with Egor. We must settle him. My sister said that some friend of hers, Nastasia Petrovna, lives somewhere here, and maybe will have him and look after him."
He fumbled among his papers, and produced a crumpled letter and read:
" 'Malaya Nijnaya Street, Nastasia Petrovna Toskunova, lier own house.' We must go and look for it at once. What a bother!"
Directly they had finished their tea, Ivan Ivanitch and Egorooshka left the commercial inn.
"What a bother!" mumbled the uncle. "You've fastened on to me like a burdock—to God with you! You want educa- tion and nobility, and I only have worries with you. . . ."
When they crossed the yard, there were no longer any waggons or drivers—they had all left the wharf early in the morning. In the farthest corner of the yard stood the familiar britchka; by it were the bays eating some oats.
"Good-bye, britchka!" thought Egorooshka.
They first had a long climb up a hill along the boulevard, then they crossed a large market-place: nere Ivan Ivanitch inquired of a constable where the Malaya Nijnaya was.
"Ugh!" smiled the constable. "It's a long way, over by the pasture."
On the way they met several little open cabs, but such a weakness as to drive in a cab uncle did not allow hi^^lf, save on very exceptional occasions, or on very high holidays. He and Egorooshka walked a long way through paved streets, and streets where there was only a footpath and no paved road, and finally they reached a street where there was neither footpath nor paved roadway. When, by means of their legs and their tongues, they had reached the Malaya Nijnaya Street, they were both crimson, and removed their hats to mop their perspiring foreheads.
"Tell me, if you please," Ivan Ivanitch accosted an old man sitting by the door of his shop, "which is the house of Nastasia Petrovna Toskunova?"
"There is no Toskunova here," answered the old man after a little reflection. "Perhaps it is Timoshenko?"
"No, it is Toskunova."
"Excuse me, there is no Toskunova."
Ivan Ivanitch shrugged his shoulders, and walked slowly on.
"It's no good looking!" shouted the old man. "I tell you there isn't, and that means there isn't."
"Listen, auntie," said Ivan Ivanitch, addressiTig an old woman at a corner by a fruit-stand selling dried sunflower seeds and pears, "which is the house of Nastasia Petrovna Toskunova?"
The old woman looked at him in surprise, and laughed.
"Ay, but Nastasia Petrovna doesn't live in her own house .,ow," she said. "Lord, it's eight years since she married her daughter and left the house to her son-in-law. Her son-in- law is there now."
With her eyes she was clearly saying: "How could you, silly iolk, not know that simple fact?"
"And where is she now living?" asked Ivan Ivanitch.
"Oh, Lord!" in surprise, and clasping her hands, said the old woman. "She has been in lodgings a long time. Since eight years, when she left the house to her son-in-law. Eh, you!"
She very likely expected Ivan Ivanitch also to be surprised and exclaimed: "No, not possible!" but he very quietly in- quired:
"And where is her lodging?"
The vendor turned up a sleeve, and, pointing in the direc- tion with her bare arm, said in a piercing shrill voice.
"Go on quite straight, straight, straight . . . till you pass a little red house, and there will be a little alley on your left. Go by this little alley, and look for the third gate on the right. . . ."
Ivan Ivanitch and Egorooshka went to the little red house, turned to the left into the alley, and directed their steps to- wards the third gateway on the right. A grey wooden fence, with very wide rifts in it, extended on either side of these grey and very old gates; the right half of the fence inclined very far forward and threatened to fall down altogether, the left inclined back into the yard; the gates stood upright, and seemed to be choosing which would be the most comfortable way to lie down, forwards or backwards. Ivan Ivanitch undid the latch, and together with Egorooshka saw a large yard overgrown wit"n steppe-grass and burrs. A hundred steps from the gates stood a small house with a red roof and green window-shutters. A plump woman with tucked-up sleeves, holding up the corner of her apron and strewing something ()n the ground, was standing in the middle of the yard, and screaming in as piercing shrill a voice as the vendswoman: