"How do you do, comrade?" said Nikolay, screwing up his eyes good-naturedly and nodding his head. "Allow me, I'll help you."
Kneeling on the floor in front of the peasant, he quickly unwound the dirty, damp wrappings.
"Well!" the fellow exclaimed quietly, pulling back his foot and blinking in astonishment. He regarded the mother, who said, without paying attention to his look:
"His legs ought to be rubbed down with alcohol."
"Of course!" said Nikolay.
Ignaty snorted in embarrassment. Nikolay found the note, straightened it out, looked at it, and handed the gray, crumpled piece of paper to the mother.
"For you."
"Read it."
"'Mother, don't let the affair go without your attention. Tell the tall lady not to forget to have them write more for our cause, I beg of you. Good-by. Rybin.'"
"My darling!" said the mother sadly. "They've already seized him by the throat, and he——"