everyone is astonished. The greedy priest, the grasping priest,
what does he do with his money? I feel myself I am greedy, . . .
and I blame myself, I condemn myself. . . . I am ashamed to look
people in the face. . . . I tell you on my conscience, Pavel
Mihailovitch. . . . I call the God of truth to witness. . . ."

Father Yakov took breath and went on:

"On the way here I prepared a regular confession to make you, but
. . . I've forgotten it all; I cannot find a word now. I get a
hundred and fifty roubles a year from my parish, and everyone wonders
what I do with the money. . . . But I'll explain it all truly. . . .
I pay forty roubles a year to the clerical school for my brother
Pyotr. He has everything found there, except that I have to provide
pens and paper."

"Oh, I believe you; I believe you! But what's the object of all
this?" said Kunin, with a wave of the hand, feeling terribly oppressed
by this outburst of confidence on the part of his visitor, and not
knowing how to get away from the tearful gleam in his eyes.

"Then I have not yet paid up all that I owe to the consistory for
my place here. They charged me two hundred roubles for the living,
and I was to pay ten roubles a month. . . . You can judge what is
left! And, besides, I must allow Father Avraamy at least three
roubles a month."

"What Father Avraamy?"

"Father Avraamy who was priest at Sinkino before I came. He was