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“Well, YOU will not be going that way, I suppose? You don’t altogether fancy it?”

“Why should I?”

“Because you have declared it to be the easiest way.”

“Well, I am not a saint.”

“No, ha-ha! you are not.”

“And you mean that–?”

“I mean nothing. If a dog’s chain be short, he is not to be blamed.”

Whereupon, setting nose to nose, the pair plunged into a quarrel still more heated as they expounded in simple, but often curiously apposite, language opinions intelligible to themselves alone. The one peasant, a lean fellow with lengthy limbs, cold, sarcastic eyes, and a dark, bony countenance, spoke loudly and sonorously, with frequent shrugs of the shoulders, while the other peasant, a man stout and broad of build who until now had seemed calm, self-assured of demeanour, and a man of settled views, breathed heavily, while his oxlike eyes glowed with an ardour causing his face to flush patchily, and his beard to stick out from his chin.

“Look here, for instance,” he growled as he gesticulated and rolled his dull eyes about. “How can that be? Does not even God know wherein a man ought to restrain himself?”

“If the Devil be one’s master, God doesn’t come into the matter.”

“Liar! For who was the first who raised his hand against his fellow?”

“Cain.”

“And the first man who repented of a sin? “

“Adam.”

“Ah! You see!”

Here there broke into the dispute a shout of: “They are just getting him aboard!” and the crowd, rushing away from the stern, carried with it the two disputants–the sparer peasant; lowering his shoulders, and buttoning up his jacket as he went; while the bearded peasant, following at his heels, thrust his head forward in a surly manner as he shifted his cap from the one ear to the other.

With a ponderous beating of paddles against the current the steamer heaved to, and the captain shouted through a speaking-trumpet, with a view to preventing a collision between the barge and the stem of the vessel:

“Put her over! Put her o-o-ove-r!”

Soon the fishing-boat came alongside, and the half-drowned man, with a form as limp as a half-empty sack, and water exuding from every stitch, and his hitherto haggard face grown smooth and simple-looking, was hoisted on board.

Next, on the sailors laying him upon the hatchway of the baggage hold, he sat up, leaned forward, smoothed his wet hair with the palms of his hands, and asked dully, without looking at anyone:

“Have they also recovered my cap?”

Someone among the throng around him exclaimed reprovingly:

“It is not about your cap that you ought to be thinking, but about your soul.”

Upon this he hiccuped loudly and freely, like a camel, and emitted a stream of turgid water from his mouth. Then, looking at the crowd with lack-lustre eyes, he said in an apathetic tone:

“Let me be taken elsewhere.”

In answer, the boatswain sternly bade him stretch himself out, and this the young fellow did, with his hands clasped under his head, and his eyes closed, while the boatswain added brusquely to the onlookers:

“Move away, move away, good people. What is there to stare at? This is not a show. . . . Hi, you muzhik! Why did you play us such a trick, damn you?”

The crowd however, was not to be suppressed, but indulged in comments.

“He murdered his father, didn’t he?”

“What? THAT wretched creature?”

As for the boatswain, he squatted upon his heels, and proceeded to subject the rescued man to a course of strict interrogation.

“What is the destination marked on your ticket?”

“Perm.”

“Then you ought to leave the boat at Kazan. And what is your name?”

“Yakov.”

“And your surname?”

“Bashkin–though we are known also as the Bukolov family.”

“Your family has a DOUBLE surname, then?”

With the full power of his trumpet-like lungs the bearded peasant (evidently he had lost his temper) broke in:

“Though his uncle and his brother have been sentenced to penal servitude and are travelling together on that barge, he–well, he has received his discharge! That is only a personal matter, however. In spite of what judges may say, one ought never to kill, since conscience cannot bear the thought of blood. Even nearly to become a murderer is wrong.”