leather and rolled them up into a ball. He also brought out the bosoviki, which were quite ready, cracked them one against the other, brushed them with his apron, and gave them to the lad. The lad took away the bosoviki.
"Farewell, masters! Good day."
VIII.
Another year passed by—two years passed by. It was now the sixth year of Michael's abiding with Simon. He lived just in the same way as before. He went nowhither, spoke to no strange person, and the whole of that time he had only smiled twice: once when the old woman had prepared supper for him, and the second time when he had looked at the gentleman. Simon could not rejoice enough in his workman. And he asked him no more from whence he came; the only fear he now had was lest Michael should leave him.
One day they were sitting at home. The old woman was putting an iron pot on the stove, and the children were running along the benches and looking out of the windows. Simon was stitching at one window, and Michael was hammering at the heel of a boot at the other window. One of the little boys sidled along the bench up to Michael, leaned against his shoulder, and looked out of the window.
"Look, Uncle Michael! A merchant's wife is coming with her children to our house, and one of the little girls is lame."
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