"A gue-e-est!"

"Papa!" cried Foma in a ringing voice. "Papa!" His father jumped
to his feet and rushed toward him.

"What is that? What are they doing there?" cried Foma.

Wildly roaring, Ignat jumped out of the cabin with huge bounds.
He soon returned, sooner than Foma, staggering and looking around
him, had time to reach his father's bed.

"They frightened you? It's nothing!" said Ignat, taking him up in
his arms. "Lie down with me."

"What is it?" asked Foma, quietly.

"It was nothing, my son. Only a drowned man. A man was drowned
and he is floating. That's nothing! Don't be afraid, he has
already floated clear of us."

"Why did they push him?" interrogated the boy, firmly pressing
close to his father, and shutting his eyes for fright.

"It was necessary to do so. The water might have thrown him under
the wheel. Under ours, for instance. Tomorrow the police would
notice it, there would be trouble, inquests, and we would be held
here for examination. That's why we shoved him along. What
difference does it make to him? He is dead; it doesn't pain him;
it doesn't offend him. And the living would be troubled on his
account. Sleep, my son.