the cemetery Yegorushka's father and granny, Zinaida Danilovna, lay
sleeping day and night. When Granny had died she had been put in a
long narrow coffin and two pennies had been put upon her eyes, which
would not keep shut. Up to the time of her death she had been brisk,
and used to bring soft rolls covered with poppy seeds from the
market. Now she did nothing but sleep and sleep. . . .

Beyond the cemetery came the smoking brickyards. From under the
long roofs of reeds that looked as though pressed flat to the ground,
a thick black smoke rose in great clouds and floated lazily upwards.
The sky was murky above the brickyards and the cemetery, and great
shadows from the clouds of smoke crept over the fields and across
the roads. Men and horses covered with red dust were moving about
in the smoke near the roofs.

The town ended with the brickyards and the open country began.
Yegorushka looked at the town for the last time, pressed his face
against Deniska's elbow, and wept bitterly.

"Come, not done howling yet, cry-baby!" cried Kuzmitchov. "You are
blubbering again, little milksop! If you don't want to go, stay
behind; no one is taking you by force!

"Never mind, never mind, Yegor boy, never mind," Father Christopher
muttered rapidly--"never mind, my boy. . . . Call upon God. . . .
You are not going for your harm, but for your good. Learning is
light, as the saying is, and ignorance is darkness. . . . That is
so, truly."

"Do you want to go back?" asked Kuzmitchov.