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‘Ah!’ she pronounced at last, and putting her head a little on one side, once more she scrutinised Baburin attentively. ‘So that’s your rule, is it? Well, that’s of no consequence whatever to me; I don’t want an overseer, but a counting-house clerk, a secretary. What sort of a hand do you write?’

‘I write well, without mistakes in spelling.’

‘That too is of no consequence to me. The great thing for me is for it to be clear, and without any of those new copybook letters with tails, that I don’t like. And what’s your other peculiarity?’

Baburin moved uneasily, coughed….

‘Perhaps … the gentleman has referred to the fact that I am not alone.’

‘You are married?’

‘Oh no … but …’

My grandmother knit her brows.

‘There is a person living with me … of the male sex … a comrade, a poor friend, from whom I have never parted … for … let me see … ten years now.’

‘A relation of yours?’

‘No, not a relation–a friend. As to work, there can be no possible hindrance occasioned by him,’ Baburin made haste to add, as though foreseeing objections. ‘He lives at my cost, occupies the same room with me; he is more likely to be of use, as he is well educated–speaking without flattery, extremely so, in fact–and his morals are exemplary.’

My grandmother heard Baburin out, chewing her lips and half closing her eyes.

‘He lives at your expense?’

‘Yes.’

‘You keep him out of charity?’

‘As an act of justice … as it’s the duty of one poor man to help another poor man.’

‘Indeed! It’s the first time I’ve heard that. I had supposed till now that that was rather the duty of rich people.’

‘For the rich, if I may venture to say so, it is an entertainment … but for such as we …’

‘Well, well, that’s enough, that’s enough,’ my grandmother cut him short; and after a moment’s thought she queried, speaking through her nose, which was always a bad sign, ‘And what age is he, your protege?’

‘About my own age.’

‘Really, I imagined that you were bringing him up.’

‘Not so; he is my comrade–and besides …’

‘That’s enough,’ my grandmother cut him short a second time. ‘You’re a philanthropist, it seems. Yakov Petrovitch is right; for a man in your position it’s something very peculiar. But now let’s get to business. I’ll explain to you what your duties will be. And as regards wages…. Que faites vous ici?‘ added my grandmother suddenly, turning her dry, yellow face to me:–‘Allez etudier votre devoir de mythologie.’

I jumped up, went up to kiss my grandmother’s hand, and went out,–not to study mythology, but simply into the garden.

* * * * *

The garden on my grandmother’s estate was very old and large, and was bounded on one side by a flowing pond, in which there were not only plenty of carp and eels, but even loach were caught, those renowned loach, that have nowadays disappeared almost everywhere. At the head of this pond was a thick clump of willows; further and higher, on both sides of a rising slope, were dense bushes of hazel, elder, honeysuckle, and sloe-thorn, with an undergrowth of heather and clover flowers. Here and there between the bushes were tiny clearings, covered with emerald-green, silky, fine grass, in the midst of which squat funguses peeped out with their comical, variegated pink, lilac, and straw-coloured caps, and golden balls of ‘hen-dazzle’ blazed in light patches. Here in spring-time the nightingales sang, the blackbirds whistled, the cuckoos called; here in the heat of summer it was always cool–and I loved to make my way into the wilderness and thicket, where I had favourite secret spots, known–so, at least, I imagined–only to me.

On coming out of my grandmother’s room I made straight for one of these spots, which I had named ‘Switzerland.’ But what was my astonishment when, before I had reached ‘Switzerland,’ I perceived through the delicate network of half-dry twigs and green branches that some one besides me had found it out! A long, long figure in a long, loose coat of yellow frieze and a tall cap was standing in the very spot I loved best of all! I stole up a little nearer, and made out the face, which was utterly unknown to me, also very long and soft, with small reddish eyes, and a very funny nose; drawn out as long as a pod of peas, it positively over-hung the full lips; and these lips, quivering and forming a round O, were giving vent to a shrill little whistle, while the long fingers of the bony hands, placed facing one another on the upper part of the chest, were rapidly moving with a rotatory action. From time to time the motion of the hands subsided, the lips ceased whistling and quivering, the head was bent forward as though listening. I came still nearer, examined him still more closely…. The stranger held in each hand a small flat cup, such as people use to tease canaries and make them sing. A twig snapped under my feet; the stranger started, turned his dim little eyes towards the copse, and was staggering away … but he stumbled against a tree, uttered an exclamation, and stood still.