“Halt you, so-and-so!  Where’s the money!”

“What money?  Go to the devil!”

“Oh, the money you are taking the master for the rent.  Hand it over, you bald devil, or we will throttle you, and you’ll die in your sins.”

And they began to practise their villainy on father, and, instead of beseeching them, weeping, or anything of the sort, father got angry and began to reprove them with the greatest severity.

“What are you pestering me for?” said he.  “You are a dirty lot.  There is no fear of God in you, plague take you!  It’s not money you want, but a beating, to make your backs smart for three years after.  Be off, blockheads, or I shall defend myself.  I have a revolver that takes six bullets, it’s in my bosom!”

But his words did not deter the robbers, and they began beating him with anything they could lay their hands on.

They looked through everything in the cart, searched my father thoroughly, even taking off his boots; when they found that beating father only made him swear at them the more, they began torturing him in all sorts of ways.  All the time Anyutka was sitting behind the bush, and she saw it all, poor dear.  When she saw father lying on the ground and gasping, she started off and ran her hardest through the thicket and the creek towards home.  She was only a little girl, with no understanding; she did not know the way, just ran on not knowing where she was going.  It was some six miles to our home.  Anyone else might have run there in an hour, but a little child, as we all know, takes two steps back for one forwards, and indeed it is not everyone who can run barefoot through the prickly bushes; you want to be used to it, too, and our girls used always to be crowding together on the stove or in the yard, and were afraid to run in the forest.

Towards evening Anyutka somehow reached a habitation, she looked, it was a hut.  It was the forester’s hut, in the Crown forest; some merchants were renting it at the time and burning charcoal.  She knocked.  A woman, the forester’s wife, came out to her.  Anyutka, first of all, burst out crying, and told her everything just as it was, and even told her about the money.  The forester’s wife was full of pity for her.

“My poor little dear!  Poor mite, God has preserved you, poor little one!  My precious!  Come into the hut, and I will give you something to eat.”

She began to make up to Anyutka, gave her food and drink, and even wept with her, and was so attentive to her that the girl, only think, gave her the parcel of notes.

“I will put it away, darling, and to-morrow morning I will give it you back and take you home, dearie.”

The woman took the money, and put Anyutka to sleep on the stove where at the time the brooms were drying.  And on the same stove, on the brooms, the forester’s daughter, a girl as small as our Anyutka, was asleep.  And Anyutka used to tell us afterwards that there was such a scent from the brooms, they smelt of honey!  Anyutka lay down, but she could not get to sleep, she kept crying quietly; she was sorry for father, and terrified.  But, sir, an hour or two passed, and she saw those very three robbers who had tortured father walk into the hut; and the one in the crimson shirt, with big jaws, their leader, went up to the woman and said: