The moon now showed distinctly a little clearing in the wood. At the
edge of it lay a woman's figure stretched out at full length. The
wide-open eyes stared fixedly at the sky; no breath moved the rags which
covered her breast; from under her wretched dress projected the lean
way-worn feet. Near her lay a wallet. A little living creature clung to
the motionless body and tried to raise it.
"What are you doing there?" asked the old man in a hoarse voice.
"Oh, I am so frightened, so frightened!" sobbed the child. A little
ragged girl lifted her pale face to the convict, and then, seized with
alarm, tried to hide herself again in her mother's clothing. Ivan
touched the woman's ice-cold forehead.
"What is your name?" he asked.
"Anjuta," whispered the child without letting go of the body.
"Have you been here long?"
"I do not know. Oh, I am so frightened!"
"Was the sun still high when your mother fell down?"
"Yes, Grandfather."
Ivan stepped to one side, and piled up a heap of dry twigs which he set
on fire. The merry flames licked with red tongues at the branches.
"Go and warm yourself," said the old man, speaking as abruptly as before
to the child. "Do it quickly."
"And mother?"
"Let mother rest. She is asleep."
The fire-light played on the face of the dead woman and lent it a
ghostly semblance of life. The convict sat by the fire, buried in his
thoughts. Perhaps he also would soon be somewhere in the forest or by
the road-side like this woman. The thought was not a new one to him. How
cold-bloodedly he had himself often engaged in a deadly affray with
knives and turned his back on his fallen opponent without compunction.
And yet he felt moved at the sight of this stranger woman, who lay there
in such a pitiable way like an animal which has breathed its last. "It's
a pity, a pity!" he growled to himself.
[Illustration: "At the edge of the wood lay a dead woman, with a little
living creature sobbing over her."]
Anjuta approached the fire timidly and stared straight at him. Perhaps
the rapidly increasing darkness alarmed her, for she came nearer,
without his observing it; suddenly with her little hand she seized his
finger and held it fast.
"Well, little thing, what do you want?" he growled, involuntarily laying
his free hand on her head.
"What are we to do?"
Anjuta raised her clear little eyes. For the first time a human being
looked at him, the thief and murderer, trustfully.
"It is all right, all right; don't worry!" he said half-embarrassed. And
for the first time something strange came into his eyes and rolled in
warm drops into his grey bristly beard.
V
Ivan the Runaway could not bury Anjuta's mother, for he had no spade. He
contented himself with collecting twigs, pine-branches, and stones in
order to cover the body of the poor tramp. The little girl at first
wanted to hold his hands, but at his sharp rebuke she crept into a ditch
and remained there crying bitterly, while he finished his work.
"Well, why are you crying?" he asked at last to comfort her.
"I am sad about mother."
"Your mother is dead; she won't come back."
"How can she be dead?"
"Have you never seen any one die?"
"Oh yes, Uncle Andron, whom God took to Himself."
"Well, God has taken your mother to Himself. Perhaps He wanted her."
"There was also the grey horse," said the child. "God took him too. When
will He take me?"
The old man looked long at the child, and something like pity stirred
him.
"For you it is still too early," he said gloomily.
"But what shall I do without mother?" She again held his finger with her
little hand.
"Don't be afraid. I will stay with you. No one will touch you; I have a
gun."
The old man picked up two slender sticks and tied them together with a
strip of birch-bark, so as to make a rude cross. "Now your mother's
grave is finished. Make a prayer, Anjuta; then we will go."
"I don't know how to pray; mother never taught me. I can only say, 'Give
me a piece of bread for Jesus' sake.'"
"Have you never been in church?"
"No; mother and I--we always stood before the church door when people
came out and cried, 'Good people, give us bread for Jesus' sake; we have
eaten nothing for two days.'"
"Well then, God can ask nothing more of you, poor thing," said Ivan in a
more friendly tone and stroked her. "He will be tolerant. Cross yourself
and kiss this cross. That's right. And now say, 'Lord, have mercy on her
poor soul.'"
"Lord, have mercy on her poor soul," the child repeated.
"Now let us go on. We have no time to loiter."
It was not till evening that Ivan, carrying the tired child on his arm,
reached a little village. He waited till it was dark and lights showed
in the windows. As though they scented a thief in him, the dogs raised
an ear-splitting noise. Anjuta, who had been asleep, nestling against
his cheek, started with fright, and began to cry; he told her harshly to
be quiet and approached the last cottage in the village which stood near
the wood.
"Who is knocking? Is it a Christian?" asked a woman's voice.
"Will you give me a bed for the night? I am tired with carrying her." He
pointed to the child, whose little head had again sunk on his shoulder.
The woman would hardly have admitted him alone.
"Come in, but don't take it ill that there is nothing to eat; we have
nothing ourselves."
"I have money, if there is any chance of buying anything."
"Is the child yours? How tired it is, poor little thing!"
"No, she is not mine. What should a hunter do with children? She came in
my way, that is all. Her mother died in the forest and I found her
before the wolves ate her. Perhaps some one will adopt her. She is quite
healthy and her name is Anjuta."
"Who can adopt her? We ourselves have barely enough to live upon. You
must report your finding her at the police office in the nearest town,
or go with her to the bailiff of the village."
But Ivan was not at all disposed to go either to the town or to the
village bailiff. "Since God has sent me the poor orphan, she can remain
with me," he said. "We will not come to grief, we two, in the forest.
Will you promise not to be afraid when you hear howlings and moanings
in the wood?"
"If you are with me, Grandfather, I won't be afraid. You have a gun and
can shoot all the wolves dead."
As the child chattered, the old man's sulky face assumed a brighter
expression.