IX

St. Martin's summer came and went. In the forest it became so cold, that

Ivan thought of giving Anjuta into the charge of one of the villagers

for the winter. But none of them could afford to take care of her. They

were already beginning to mix the meal, which was their food during the

winter, with pieces of pine-bark and chaff. Moreover, the old man would

have sorely missed the clear, eager childish eyes, which looked so

confidingly into his, and the merry laughter which relieved the

monotony of his dark life. The forest became more and more silent in

preparation for its winter sleep; and winter came stealing on with

muffled footsteps.

"It is time, Anjuta, to dig our hole for the winter. To-morrow, with

Gods help, I will begin. There the frost cannot pinch us, when we sit

together and gossip."

"Do you know how to sing, too, Grandfather?"

"Never mind that. The songs which I sing are not for you. But I will

tell you many things, for you are still stupid, and must learn how

things go in life, so that you may get on well, and not be a burden to

others. The world, Anjuta, is like a bottomless pit. It is easy to go

down, but one never finds the way up again, and nobody helps one. The

Pope[2] told me once that there used to be good people who loved all men

alike and did good alike to all. Even for lepers they did something."

[Footnote 2: Village priest.]

"What does that mean--'lepers'?"

"Lepers?" He hesitated. "It is a pity I never thought of asking the Pope

what it meant. Every one had a horror of them. They were not allowed to

go about as they liked." He thought for a moment. "Yes, Anjuta, I

remember now. Lepers are those who sit behind iron bars. Men fasten

fetters on them and march them up the streets with soldiers on both

sides. You see, good people in their great kindness have helped the

lepers, that is the convicts. They have done no end of good to all men,

but wicked men and scoundrels who ought to have honoured and loved them,

like fathers, have tortured and crucified them."

"What does 'crucified' mean?"

"They drove nails through their hands and feet. So.... Do you see?"

"Just like you nailed the raven to the tree with nails in its wings and

feet."

"Yes. But the raven does harm, but those men were good and kind to

people like us. That is all I know about the good folk. To-morrow we

will begin our work."

But the hole was not destined to be dug. The night was bitterly cold.

The howling of the wolves sounded so wild and terrible that Anjuta awoke

suddenly out of her sleep, crying loudly, and still lay awake listening

long after the old man by her side was comfortably snoring. The wind had

risen and drove the dry leaves round the hut. Suddenly the child thought

she heard a distant growling, and soon she was sure of it; heavy

footsteps were stamping outside the hut.

"Grandfather, Grandfather, listen!" cried Anjuta, and shook him by the

arm. "Wake up! I am so frightened!"

An enormous bear, whom the huntsmen had probably roused from his winter

lair, was coming straight towards Ivan's hut. He went round the

shapeless edifice on all sides, sniffing cautiously, as though he meant

to choose it as a new dwelling. Under his heavy tread the pine-needles

crackled, and dry branches snapped. At last he stood still, rubbing his

mighty back against a tree. His every movement was distinctly audible in

the hut.

"Of course it's a bear!" exclaimed Ivan, who had held his breath to

listen. "Well, the fellow shall give us his fur for winter wear.

Meanwhile light the pine-chips, Anjuta."

The old man seized his gun, which was always loaded, and pushed open the

rude door, which was made fast with a stone. Through the mist which hung

thickly round the trees he saw a dark shape retreating slowly into the

forest. That did not suit Ivan's plans; he aimed hastily and fired. The

bear was only grazed, for he attacked the old man, and enveloped him

with his hot evil-smelling breath, hardly giving him time to reload his

gun. The old man started back; the bear rose on its hind-legs and

towered over him like an indistinct, gigantic shadow.

"Where are you going, you blockhead? Stop, I have an account to settle

with you," cried Ivan, and fired right under the beast's jaw. The shot

missed, and suddenly the convict found himself crushed under the

terrible weight of his enraged enemy. He tried to raise himself on his

elbow, but the bear understood his business, pushed his paw under his

body, and pressed him in his close embrace till all his bones cracked.

"Jesus and all the saints," gasped the old man. "Help my Anjuta." And

his eyes closed.

Then something quite unexpected happened. The beast was already

preparing to flay his victim in the most approved bear-fashion from the

skull downwards, when a bright light flared in his eyes. Master Bruin's

mind became suddenly confused. He did not pause to investigate, but rose

at once and trotted away as fast as his feet could carry him.

"Grandfather! O Grandfather!" cried the child, lamenting as she threw

herself on his prostrate body. Driven by fear for him, she had appeared

with the burning pine-torch just in time to save her benefactor.

Ivan awoke from his swoon. "Water! Water!" he gasped hoarsely. Before

his eyes there danced fiery sparks: his breast felt terribly

constricted. He eagerly drained the cup which the child reached to him;

then he rose painfully and limped, leaning on his gun, to the hut,

where, covered up warmly by Anjuta, he fell into a death-like slumber.

He awoke, feeling tired and sick. There was a buzzing in his head; one

leg was badly injured, and the bear's claw had left deep marks on his

back.

"We can't do anything to-day with the hole, Anjuta! If I remain quiet

to-day, perhaps we can to-morrow."

But the next day came, and a second, and a third, and there was no

possibility of thinking of work. Not till a week had passed could he

rise from his bed. When he came out of the hurt, he uttered a cry of

surprise. The red and yellow leaves still hung on the trees, but a thin

coverlet of snow lay over the whole face of the clearing. In the air the

snow-flakes crossed and whirled in white confusion. Winter had brought

out its corpse-cloth overnight.

X

All that remained to the convict of his brief summer happiness was

Anjuta. As he lay on his bed of soft skins his burning eyes never left

the child. The unfortunate man suffered severely. In the first shock he

had not been able to judge distinctly how seriously the bear had injured

him. The deep wound in his shoulder would not heal, although Anjuta had

learnt how to wash and bandage it daily. It was soon accompanied by a

fever. Meanwhile, time went on remorselessly; the winter regularly

settled in, and the rude hut no longer afforded sufficient shelter. One

day Ivan dragged himself on all fours into the open, and with endless

trouble began to plaster the hut outside with earth. Within, he dug a

hollow in the ground, and with the help of a pole made a hole in the

roof, which could be closed with a small board. The fire-place was then

ready.

"Listen, little girl." In his illness the old man had become especially

gentle towards the orphan. "Now you must look after me. Be my little

housekeeper. Light the fire and boil the water. Thank God we have enough

bread and wood and meal. Put a couple of handfuls into the soup with

sliced potatoes; it will be quite tasty. Later on we will catch hares.

Peasants are not allowed to eat hares, but we are foresters, and that

has nothing to do with us."

So Anjuta lit the fire, cooked the soup, brought fresh wood from the

wood-pile. When the fire had burnt out, she clambered on the roof and

closed the opening--the "chimney," as Ivan called it--so that it

remained comfortably warm in the hut.

"Is that right, Grandfather?" she laughed.

"You are my treasure, my little dove," the old man said as he lay on his

skins. "Without you it would be all over with me."

Ivan was glad that he had taken care in the summer that the little girl

should know the way to the village thoroughly well. If his sickness

lasted, she would have to go many errands for him. But he did not like

sending the little creature out when all the paths were covered with

snow.

"Anjuta," he asked by way of precaution, "how will you recognize the way

to the village?"

"By the axe-cuts on the trunks as far as the pine which was struck by

lightning."

"You are a sharp little girl."

"And then by the ravine to the birch-tree where you have made the sign

of the cross. Then following the notches to the river, and from there

one can see the village."

Ivan became easier in mind. His protegee would not be lost, but in case

of need could fetch help by herself. But he continued in a weak state.

One day, when he felt he could no longer bear doing nothing, he dragged

himself, gun in hand, as far as the edge of the clearing, only to sink

down exhausted. Shaking with fever, after some time he returned home.

Anjuta, who ran to help him, was frightened and saw that all was not

right with him. He threw off his fur coat and talked to her excitedly,

with delirious eyes. "I will not go back behind the iron bars, do you

hear? I will not. I am innocent, your honour. Why do you torment the old

man? You might sentence a younger man to be knouted, but it will be the

death of me. Have pity, kind sirs, I must look after Anjuta." His voice

sank to a hardly intelligible whisper. "You have made a bad beginning,

comrade. When the hour comes, everything must be ready. Take out the

plank and lower it. Do you see the sentry. Spring on his shoulder and

throttle him so that he does not stir ... it serves him right. Don't

sentence me, kind sirs; I have not killed Anjuta. Ask her herself."

At last he fell into a light slumber, and when he awoke he was calmer.

"Have I frightened you, my dovelet? Ah, I am very ill, Anjuta; you have

much trouble. But wait; when I am well again we will have a jolly life."

But weeks passed, and Ivan did not get up. He was quite emaciated, and

his dark eyes were sunken still more deeply in their sockets, under his

bushy white eye-brows. Fortunately the winter was mild, and there was

not much snow.

"Anjuta, have we still bread and meal?"

"There is only a hard crust left for you to-morrow, and the meal too is

nearly finished."

"I will go to-morrow to the village," said the old man. "I will send

Andryushka Lasaref for the skins which are lying ready; the sledge can

go all the way."

The next day he took a tender adieu of the child and started; but half

an hour afterwards he knocked at the door and threw himself on the bed

in a state of complete exhaustion.

"I can't do it, Anjuta, really I can't," he said as though in apology.

"There is no more marrow in my bones. If I can't stand up to-morrow, you

must go. You are not afraid?"

"No, Grandfather ... only a little of the bears."

"The bears are now asleep in their holes, you little stupid, and suck

their paws. And there are no wolves to be heard just now. There is

nothing more for them here; therefore they are gone near the villages;

otherwise we would hear them howling every night."

The old man had tears in his eyes when Anjuta got herself ready next

morning for the journey.

"Such a tiny thing, quite alone in the deep forest!" he murmured to

himself.

"Tell Lasaref to bring a sack of meal, two large loaves of bread, and

some barley, and say that Grandfather has all kinds of fine things ready

for him. But mind you don't try to come home by night, Anjuta. Stay with

Andryushka for the night, and he will bring you in the sledge in the

morning. Tell him I am ill--the bear has badly mauled Ivan the Runaway.

Do you understand?"

"Yes; but why do you cry, Grandfather?"

"It is only foolishness.... I have grown quite weak. Now go, and God

preserve you! And listen, Anjuta; whenever you feel frightened, you must

sing."

The child started and the old man, creeping out of the hut, followed her

with his eyes. She soon reached the edge of the clearing. How nimbly her

young feet moved! Under the gigantic trees she moved like a little

beetle. Now she turned and laughed at him, and his eyes, misty with

tears, could see nothing more.