announced threateningly:

"Don't you dare! It will be worse for you if I get well."

He died in the morning at the moment when the whistle called the
men to work. He lay in the coffin with open mouth, his eyebrows
knit as if in a scowl. He was buried by his wife, his son, the dog,
an old drunkard and thief, Daniel Vyesovshchikov, a discharged
smelter, and a few beggars of the suburb. His wife wept a little
and quietly; Pavel did not weep at all. The villagers who met the
funeral in the street stopped, crossed themselves, and said to one
another: "Guess Pelagueya is glad he died!" And some corrected:
"He didn't die; he rotted away like a beast."

When the body was put in the ground, the people went away, but the
dog remained for a long time, and sitting silently on the fresh
soil, she sniffed at the grave.



CHAPTER II


Two weeks after the death of his father, on a Sunday, Pavel came
home very drunk. Staggering he crawled to a corner in the front
of the room, and striking his fist on the table as his father used
to do, shouted to his mother:

"Supper!"