Matvey's Plan
AS the good foreman and his wife, with their young guest, sat round the
table next morning, drinking their tea out of tumblers, in true Russian
fashion, the door was rudely pushed open, and Abram Kapoostin stood
there, glowering at the cosy little group beside the warm stove.
"Pray, what is the reason of this?" he said, his thick voice rough
with anger. "I have been seeking my scoundrel of a nephew all through
the wood, and now, forsooth, I find him here. What business have you,
Matvey Philipitch, to entice away Sergey from his uncle and guardian?"
"He did not entice me," Sergey began to say, but the foreman silenced
him with a gesture, and answered Abram himself.
"There has been—there could be—no enticing. The boy was frightened and
unhappy, and so came to us, his friends, for comfort and protection;
aye, and he shall have both, in spite of thee, Abram Kapoostin."
The man made no reply, but glared at Sergey from under frowning brows.
The foreman went on—
"Some time ago, Abram, I said plainly to thee that I could not suffer
thy frequent absences from work, and that if I had to speak again, I
should feel it my duty to dismiss thee."
"Me? Dismiss me?" growled Abram. "Dismiss the best axe in the gang?"
"It is true thou art the best axe—the best workman when thou dost so
choose," replied Matvey quietly. "But more often thou dost not choose.
And no one knows what business other than the woodcraft claims thy
time, and keeps thee from thy duty. And moreover, Abram, thou canst
not deny that even when thou art here, the village kabak (dram-shop)
is haunted by thee, and most of thy wage is spent on that devil's-fire
drink that we call vodki. Idle, surly, drunken, unfaithful to God and
to the master, an influence for evil in the gang, a bad example to
all the younger men, a terror to this boy, whose guardian thou didst
promise to be—what hast thou to say for thyself?"
Apparently the man had nothing to say in self-defence; the accusation
was all too true.
Matvey continued: "I have warned thee more than once, but thou hast
not heeded. Now the time is past; I warn thee no more, but dismiss
thee. Here, take thy wages and begone, and see that thy hut is empty
and clean by to-morrow, when a better man shall come to live there.
This afternoon Sergey and I shall go over and fetch his things, but he
returns to thee no more. Now go!"
At this stern dismissal, Abram's bloodshot eyes fixed themselves
threateningly upon Sergey.
"All this trouble must be of thy doing, thou sly fox, thou thankless
little beast!" he roared, frantic with rage. "Ach, well! I will be even
with thee yet. I never forget, I never forgive! Thou hast compassed
my ruin, and it shall go hard with me but I will compass thine. Be
sure—very sure—of that, thou backbiting serpent!"
"Any more of this, and I give thee in charge of the forest police!"
cried Matvey sternly. "Get out of my place, ere I lose all patience,
and give thee what thou hast richly earned."
There was a tone in the foreman's ringing voice which even the burly,
blustering Abram could not afford to ignore and disobey. One last
baleful gaze he fastened upon the boy's troubled face, then he was gone.
"He is furious at the loss of the ring," Sergey said, when the
unwelcome visitor had gone, "and I am in worse danger than ever. I dare
not even work in the forest, for fear of meeting him. Oh, little father
and mother, what can I do?"
"Listen, my son," said Matvey. "Last night the strong south wind and
heavy rain made the river ice cracked and rotten, and in some places
there is already open water. To-night or to-morrow the remaining ice
will break up and float down the current, melting as it goes. Our
Number 1 raft, the 'Swan,' is nearly ready to start, and thou shalt go
on her as cook-boy and helper. What sayest thou, child?"
"Say—Matvey Philipitch? What can I say but a thousand grateful thanks?
I shall grieve to leave you and dear, kind mother Christina, but I
should never have a moment's peace or safety here, after those awful
threats of uncle's. For even though you have dismissed him, Matvey
Philipitch, he may be lurking about in the forest, watching and lying
in wait for me. No, it is best every way that I go on the 'Swan,' as
you say."
"If thou shouldst prefer to wait awhile longer under our protection,
child, the second raft—the 'Wild Goose'—will be going later."
"No, father Matvey, I thank you—but no! I am anxious to be far away as
soon as may be. But tell me, are all the rafts to be birds this year?"
"Yes, we shall have the 'Swan,' 'Wild Goose,' 'Duck,' 'Sea Gull,'
and others. Last year we had flowers, such as the 'Water Lily,'
'Sunflower,' and so forth. The men take a pride in their rafts, and
like them to have names. And I have known some of them grow so fond of
their queer, unwieldy craft during the long voyage, that they have wept
when they reached their port, and saw the timbers of the raft taken
asunder, and the little cabin house, where the raftsmen had cooked, and
eaten, and slept, hewn up for firewood."
"Perhaps I shall come to love the 'Swan' thus," said the boy. "But I
shall be very lonely without you and mother Christina."
"I have friends in three of the towns through which thou wilt pass,"
said Matvey, "and to them I will give thee letters in case thou
shouldst be sick or in any difficulty. For the rest, Ivan, the skipper
of the 'Swan,' and his three sons are good, honest fellows, and they
will be kind to thee. About passports there will be no trouble. My
master, the Count, pays for a yearly 'permit,' which includes all his
raftsmen, and Ivan has the certificate of a raft skipper, who knows
all the shoals, the currents, the rocks, rapids, and other dangers.
The voyage will take the whole summer, but thou canst return with the
men by one of the steam cargo boats, working thy passage homeward, and
tramping from whatever spot the steamer sets thee and thy companions
down."
That afternoon Matvey and Sergey, according to their arrangement, went
over to Abram's hut to get the boy's things. They found him clearing
up the place, and packing his possessions. He looked round as his
unwelcome callers appeared, and his surly face darkened.
"Sorry to trouble thee, Abram," said the foreman pleasantly, "but we
need not do so for long. May Sergey pack away his things in this bag
that I have brought?"
"Yes, yes! Take them and begone!" growled Abram. "I'm glad to be going
myself to-morrow. A woodman's life is too dull for me, and I have
friends with whom I can earn more in a night than I could do with my
axe in a year. Ha! Ha! Sir Foreman, what say you to that?"
"Nothing, save that thou and thy fine friends will most assuredly come
to a bad end sooner or later."
"Have done with your warnings, Matvey Philipitch. From this day I go my
own way, and none shall hinder me."
"Until God hinder thee once for all, thou stubborn will! And hinder
thee He shall, when the measure of thy sins is full!" said Matvey
solemnly. "Come, Sergey, I see thou hast thy goods ready. Say farewell
to thine uncle. It is not likely that thou and he shall meet again."
Abram laughed an evil, sneering laugh. "Nay," said he, "I am sure to
see my dutiful nephew again. You see, Matvey Philipitch, I have a small
account to settle with him, and this I would not forego, if I could."
"Well," said the foreman, "here he is! Settle it now!"
"No, no," retorted the man rudely. "Such matters are private between
relatives. But I only postpone the affair. Some day—or, better still,
some night—I will settle up old scores with this young rascal, and if
there be anything left of him when I have got through, you are welcome
to it, Sir Foreman."
"Come, little son, we have stayed long enough—too long!" said Matvey,
shuddering at the malignant words and look of Abram Kapoostin. "Life is
not long enough for us to waste time bandying words with a ruffian such
as this. Come!"