“I understand, Father; I will be as silent.”
“Good,” continued Father Nicodemus. “I will give you a letter to the Moscow flour merchant, Saphiannikoff. Take him my greetings, and, as a humble gift from me, a small barrel of smoked cloud-berries. We are old friends; he will receive you. You are skilled in bookkeeping and he will employ you in his shop. Will you go now, or wait until the spring? Winter will soon be here, and your clothes are but poor. You might easily get frozen to death.”
“I will go now, Father, at once!”
“Well, God speed your journey, my son.”
Father Nicodemus gave Tichon his blessing and the promised letter, which he allowed him to read:—
“To my beloved brother in Christ, Parfen Paramonitch, grace be unto thee. The bearer of this letter is the youth Tichon. He is no longer satisfied with stale bread, he craves for savoury cakes to satisfy his hunger. Peace be unto you all, and grace from our Lord.
“The humble Father Nicodemus.”
Tichon started for Moscow with a cart-load of fish, as soon as the winter roads could be depended on.
Saphiannikoff’s flour stores were at the corner of the third Mieshanski Street and the small Suhareff Square.
In spite of the letter from Father Nicodemus, Tichon was received not without suspicion. For a trial he was appointed to assist the house-porter in heavy manual work. When they found he did not drink, but worked well and knew how to cast figures up correctly, he was taken into the shop, and entrusted with the account books.