Tchelkache showed his teeth, stuck out his tongue, and, making a horrible grimace, stared at him persistently.

The boy, surprised, winked, then suddenly burst out laughing and cried: 

“O! how funny he is!”

Almost without rising from the ground, he rolled heavily along toward Tchelkache, dragging his bag in the dust and striking the stones with his scythe.

“Eh! say, friend, you’ve been on a good spree!” said he to Tchelkache, pulling his trousers.

“Just so, little one, just so!” frankly replied Tchelkache.  This robust and artless lad pleased him from the first.

“Have you come from the hay-harvest?”

“Yes.  I’ve mowed a verst and earned a kopek!  Business is bad!  There are so many hands!  The starving folks have come—­have spoiled the prices.  They used to give sixty kopeks at Koubagne.  As much as that!  And formerly, they say, three, four, even five rubles.”

“Formerly!—­Formerly, they gave three rubles just for the sight of a real Russian.  Ten years ago, I made a business of that.  I would go to a village, and I would say:  ‘I am a Russian!’ At the words, everyone came flocking to look at me, feel of me, marvel at me—­and I had three rubles in my pocket!  In addition, they gave me food and drink and invited me to stay as long as I liked.”

The boy’s mouth had gradually opened wider and wider, as he listened to Tchelkache, and his round face expressed surprised admiration; then, comprehending that he was being ridiculed by this ragged man, be brought his jaws together suddenly and burst, out laughing.  Tchelkache kept a serious face, concealing a smile under his moustache.

“What a funny fellow! . . .  You said that as though it was true, and I believed you.  But, truly, formerly, yonder. . . .”

“And what did I say?  I said that formerly, yonder. . .”

“Get along with you!” said the boy, accompanying his words with a gesture.  “Are you a shoemaker? or a tailor?  Say?”

“I?” asked Tchelkache; then after a moment’s reflection, he added: 

“I’m a fisherman.”

“A fisherman?  Really!  What do you catch, fish?”

“Why should I catch fish?  Around here the fishermen catch other things besides that.  Very often drowned men, old anchors, sunken boats—­everything, in fact!  There are lines for that. . .”

“Invent, keep on inventing!  Perhaps you’re one of those fishermen who sing about themselves: 

  “We are those who throw our nets
  Upon dry banks,
  Upon barns and stables!”

“Have you ever seen any of that kind?” asked Tchelkache, looking ironically at him, and thinking that this honest boy must be very stupid.

“No, I’ve never seen any; but I’ve heard them spoken of.”

“Do you like them?”

“Why not?  They are fearless and free.”

“Do you feel the need of freedom?  Do you like freedom?”