"And is everything alike on earth?"

"What do you mean?"

"The cities and all?"

"Well, of course, the cities are like cities. There are houses,
streets--and everything that is necessary."

After many similar conversations the boy no longer stared so
often into the distance with the interrogative look of his black
eyes.

The crew of the steamer loved him, and he, too, loved those fine,
sun-burnt and weather-beaten fellows, who laughingly played with
him. They made fishing tackles for him, and little boats out of
bark, played with him and rowed him about the anchoring place,
when Ignat went to town on business. The boy often heard the men
talking about his father, but he paid no attention to what they
said, and never told his father what he heard about him. But one
day, in Astrakhan, while the steamer was taking in a cargo of
fuel, Foma heard the voice of Petrovich, the machinist:

"He ordered such a lot of wood to be taken in. What an absurd
man! First he loads the steamer up to the very deck, and then he
roars. 'You break the machinery too often,' he says. 'You pour
oil,' he says, 'at random.'"

The voice of the gray and stern pilot replied: