into his eyes and felt weary if he did not see him for two or three
hours: His father became interesting to him, and, rousing his
curiosity, he fairly developed love and respect for himself.
Every time that they were together Foma begged his father:

"Papa, tell me about yourself."

.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

The steamer was now going up the Volga. One suffocating night in
July, when the sky was overcast with thick black clouds, and
everything on the Volga was somewhat ominously calm, they reached
Kazan and anchored near Uslon at the end of an enormous fleet of
vessels. The clinking of the anchor chains and the shouting of
the crew awakened Foma; he looked out of the window and saw, far
in the distance, small lights glimmering fantastically: the water
about the boat black and thick, like oil--and nothing else could
be seen. The boy's heart trembled painfully and he began to
listen attentively. A scarcely audible, melancholy song reached
his ears--mournful and monotonous as a chant on the caravan the
watchmen called to one another; the steamer hissed angrily
getting up steam. And the black water of the river splashed sadly
and quietly against the sides of the vessels. Staring fixedly
into the darkness, until his eyes hurt, the boy discerned black
piles and small lights dimly burning high above them. He knew
that those were barges, but this knowledge did not calm him and
his heart throbbed unevenly, and, in his imagination, terrifying
dark images arose.

"O-o-o," a drawling cry came from the distance and ended like a