“Easy for those who have naught to do to blame those who work hard. I had water to fetch and wood to cut for the mother,” said Michael, the widow’s son.
“Well, it was a pity, since you stayed away so long, that you did not stay altogether, and leave us in peace,” Anna rejoined in a pettish tone.
This exasperated Michael, and not without reason, if all were told. “You did not say that to me, Anna Popovna,” he cried, “when I went to seek you in the snowstorm, you and your brother the Popovitch, and lost my left ear to save you.” Then he turned fiercely upon Ivan, as upon a foe more worthy of his wrath: “It is all your fault, Ivan Barrinka. I am quite tired of you and of your pride. Lord though you may be, you shall not lord it over me. And, after all, who knows who and what you are? I’m sure I don’t. Do you know yourself? Answer me that. Whose son are you?”
“It is you who are proud, Michael Ivanovitch. Since that wonderful snowstorm you were out in there has been no bearing with you. One would think, from the airs you give yourself, that no one ever had an ear frozen before.”
By this time the loud voices had attracted the attention of the other boys. Leaving their swings, they came crowding around; and as soon as they understood the cause of the dispute, they all turned with one accord upon Michael, threatening him with condign punishment if he did not forthwith let Barrinka have his way, whatever that way might be.
But Barrinka no longer cared for the pastime. Michael’s taunt, “Who knows who and what you are?” had struck home. From infancy the pet and plaything of the village—every wish anticipated, every caprice borne with, he had been surrounded with an atmosphere of deferential affection. He could not but know that he differed from all around him; a mystery hung about his birth, which, through injudicious and mistaken kindness, had been neither wholly concealed nor yet frankly revealed to him. All his little playfellows had fathers and mothers. It is true they were beaten sometimes, while he was never beaten. Still, it seemed to him a strange thing to have no father or mother. He called the starost, or elder of the village, in whose house he had been brought up, “bativshka” (little father), and his wife, “mativshka” (little mother), but that was not by any means the same as having a father and mother of his own.
“Take the swing if you like it,” he said to Michael. “I care nothing about it. I shall do something by-and-by much better than anything you have ever done in your life.”
Leaving the children behind him in the wood, he bent his steps homeward, regardless of the regretful looks sent after him by blue-eyed Anna Popovna, who saw that her little cavalier was sorely vexed, and would gladly have comforted him. Two longings filled his childish heart,—to be able to tell Michael and everybody who he was, and to be the hero of an adventure more wonderful than Michael’s wanderings through the snow in search of the priest’s children. Michael had been out in a snowstorm and lost an ear! In comparison with such a hero the little lord felt himself a very child.
He soon came in sight of the double row of brown wooden cottages that called itself Nicolofsky. These cottages, or izbas, were built of the trunks of trees laid one over the other, with the interstices stuffed with moss. There was a church, also of wood, but larger and better built, with a bell suspended from a fine elm tree close to it. Two of the izbas were better than the rest, and belonged, one to the starost, the other to the pope, or parish priest, Anna’s father. That of the starost boasted a porch, with ornamental wooden pillars and quaint carvings. It had a substantial chimney built of good bricks, and secure well-glazed windows to keep out the intense cold of the Russian winter. Indeed all the cottages were more comfortable than they looked.
Ivan entered, and dutifully made his bow, as he had been taught to do, to the holy picture which hung in the corner, with a lamp burning before it, since this was a feast-day. The contents of the izba were extremely simple. The most conspicuous object was the stove, with a wide shelf or platform over it, upon which the family usually slept; a handsome carved chest contained the clothing used upon festive occasions, and there were besides a few stools, a table, an arm-chair, and some wooden cups, platters, and cooking utensils. The vapour-bath, that indispensable Russian luxury, occupied an outhouse.