THE END OF AN ACT
How far we rode I can’t say; but it was still dark when we halted at a small isolated farmhouse, where Mishka roused the farmer, who came out grumbling at being disturbed before daybreak. After a muttered colloquy, he led us in and called his wife to prepare tea and food for us, while he took charge of the horses.
“You must eat and sleep,” Mishka announced in his gruff way. “You ought to be still in the hospital; but we are fools, in these days, every one of us! Ho—little father—shake down some hay in the barn; we will sleep there.”
I must have been utterly exhausted, for I slept heavily, dreamlessly, for many hours, and only woke under Mishka’s hand, as he shook me. Through the doorway of the barn, the level rays of the westering sun showed that the short November day was drawing to a close.
“You have slept long; that is well. But now we must be up and away if we are to reach Kutno to-night.”
“You go with me?”
“So far, yes. If there are no trains running yet, we go on to Alexandrovo. I shall not leave you till I have set you safely on your way. Those are my orders.”
“I don’t know why I’m going,” I muttered dejectedly, sitting up among the hay. “I would rather have stayed.”
“You go because he ordered you to; and we all obey him, whether we like it or not!” he retorted. “And he was right to send you. Why should you throw your life away for nothing? Come, there is no time to waste in words. I have brought you water; wash and dress. Remember you are no longer a disreputable revolutionist, but a respectable American citizen, and we must make you look a little more like one.”
There was something queer in his manner. Gruff as ever, he yet spoke to me, treated me, almost as if I were a child who had to be heartened up, as well as taken care of. But I didn’t resent it. I knew it was his way of showing affection; and it touched me keenly. We had learned to understand each other well, and no man ever had a stancher comrade than I had in Mishka Pavloff.