Thus Zhilin and his comrade lived a whole month. Their master was always on
the grin.
"You, Iván, good--me, Abdul, good."
But he gave them wretched food; unleavened bread made of millet-flour,
cooked in the form of cakes, but often not heated through.
Kostuilin wrote home again, and was anxiously awaiting the arrival of the
money, and lost his spirits. Whole days at a time, he sat in the barn, and
counted the days till his money should arrive, or else he slept.
But Zhilin had no expectation that his letter would reach its destination,
and he did not write another.
"Where," he asked himself,--"where would my mother get the money for my
ransom? And besides, she lived for the most part on what I used to send
her. If she made out to raise five hundred rubles, she would be in want
till the end of her days. If God wills it, I may escape."
And all the time he kept his eyes open, and made plans to elude his
captors.
He walked about the aul; he amused himself by whistling; or else he sat
down and fashioned things, either modelling dolls out of clay or plaiting
baskets of osiers, for Zhilin was a master at all sorts of handiwork.
One time he had made a doll with nose, and hands and feet, and dressed in a
Tatar shirt, and he set the doll on the roof. The Tatar women were going
for water. Dina, the master's daughter, caught sight of the doll. She
called the Tatar girls. They set down their jugs, and looked and laughed.
Zhilin took the doll, and offered it to them. They keep laughing, but don't
dare to take it.
He left the doll, went to the barn, and watched what would take place.
Dina ran up to the doll, looked around, seized the doll, and fled.
The next morning at dawn he sees Dina come out on the doorstep with the
doll. And she has already dressed it up in red rags, and was rocking it
like a little child, and singing a lullaby in her own language.
An old woman came out, gave her a scolding, snatched the doll away, broke
it in pieces, and sent Dina to her work.
Zhilin made another doll, a still better one, and gave it to Dina.
One time Dina brought a little jug, put it down, took a seat, and looked at
him. Then she laughed, and pointed to the jug.
"What is she so gay about?" thinks Zhilin.
He took the jug, and began to drink. He supposed that it was water, but it
was milk.
He drank up the milk.
"Good," says he. How delighted Dina was! "Good, Iván, good!"
And she jumped up, clapped her hands, snatched the jug, and ran away. And
from that time she began to bring him secretly fresh milk every day.
Now, sometimes the Tatars would make cheesecakes out of goat's milk, and
dry them on their roofs. Then she used to carry some of these cakes
secretly to him. And another time, when her father had killed a sheep, she
brought him a piece of mutton in her sleeve. She threw it down, and ran
away.
One time there was a tremendous shower, and for a whole hour the rain
poured as from buckets; and all the brooks grew roily. Wherever there had
been a ford, the depth of the water increased to seven feet, and bowlders
were rolled along by it. Everywhere torrents were rushing, the mountains
were full of the roaring.
Now, when the shower was over, streams were pouring all through the
village. Zhilin asked his master for a knife, whittled out a cylinder and
some paddles, and made a water-wheel, and fastened manikins at the two
ends.
The little girls brought him some rags, and he dressed up the manikins, one
like a man, the other like a woman. He fastened them on, and put the wheel
in a brook. The wheel revolved, and the dolls danced.
The whole village collected: the little boys and the little girls, the
women, and even the Tatars, came and clucked with their tongues. "_Aï,
Urus! aï, Iván!_"
Abdul had a Russian watch, which had been broken. He took it, and showed it
to Zhilin, and clucked with his tongue. Zhilin said,--
"Let me have it, I will fix it."
He took it, opened the penknife, took it apart. Then he put it together
again, and gave it back. The watch ran.
The Tatar was delighted, brought him his old beshmet which was all in rags,
and gave it to him. Nothing else to be done,--he took it, and used it as a
covering at night.
From that time, Zhilin's fame went abroad, that he was a "master." Even
from distant villages, they came to him. One brought him a gun-lock or a
pistol to repair, another a watch.
His master furnished him with tools,--a pair of pincers and gimlets and a
little file.