find something to add. . . ."

"Very well."

A silence followed. Father Yakov threw furtive glances at the
partition wall, smoothed his hair, and blew his nose.

"It's wonderful weather, . . ." he said.

"Yes. I read an interesting thing yesterday. . . . the Volsky Zemstvo
have decided to give their schools to the clergy, that's typical."

Kunin got up, and pacing up and down the clay floor, began to give
expression to his reflections.

"That would be all right," he said, "if only the clergy were equal
to their high calling and recognized their tasks. I am so unfortunate
as to know priests whose standard of culture and whose moral qualities
make them hardly fit to be army secretaries, much less priests. You
will agree that a bad teacher does far less harm than a bad priest."

Kunin glanced at Father Yakov; he was sitting bent up, thinking
intently about something and apparently not listening to his visitor.

"Yasha, come here!" a woman's voice called from behind the partition.
Father Yakov started and went out. Again a whispering began.

Kunin felt a pang of longing for tea.

"No; it's no use my waiting for tea here," he thought, looking at