out of the window, the coach drew up opposite their cottage, a youth jumped down from the ledge and opened the door. A young man in a furred coat stepped out of the coach, walked up to Simon's cottage, and reached the staircase. Matrona rushed out and threw open the door. The gentleman stooped and entered. When he straightened himself his head nearly touched the ceiling.

Simon stood up and made a bow. The gentleman astonished him. He had not seen folks like that. Simon himself was thin, and Michael was a lanky fellow; as for Matrona, she was like a dried chip; but here was one who seemed to have come from another world, a handsome, well-formed bust, a throat like a bullock's, he looked for all the world like an iron cast.

The gentleman stopped a few moments to take breath, took off his furred coat, sat on a bench, and said,

6 Who is the master-workman here?'
Simon stood forward and said,—
'I, your honour.'

"Hi, Theodore!' the gentleman called out to his youth, bring me the parcel.'

Theodore ran off and brought it in. The gentleman took the parcel and put it on the table.

Untie it,' he said. The youth untied it.

The gentleman pointed to some bootmaker's leather, and said to Simon,

'Listen, bootmaker; do you see that?'

"I do, your honour,' he said.

'But do you realise what kind of leather that is?'

Simon turned it over and said,—

Very good leather.'

"Very good, you say; you never saw the like, you fool. That's German; I paid twenty roubles for it.'

Simon was quite startled, and said,—

"Where should we have seen the like?'

'Well, well, can you make me a pair of boots of that leather?' 'I can, your honour.'

'So you can, can you?' said the gentleman in a loud voice. 'Don't forget whom you'll be working for, and what leather you'll be using. You must make me a pair of boots such as will last me a whole year without wearing down or wearing out. If you can do this, take the leather and cut it up; but if you can't, don't take it and don't cut it up. I tell you beforehand, if the boots wear out or wear down before that time, I'll have you put in prison; but if they last a year without wearing out or wearing down, you shall be paid ten roubles.'

his

Simon was so startled, he did not know what to answer. He turned eyes on Michael.

The other gave him a nudge and said,

'Shall we take the job in hand?'

6

Michael nodded. By all means,' he said.

Simon took Michael's advice. He took an order for a pair of boots, fit to last a whole year without wearing out or wearing down. The gentleman told the youth in a loud voice to take the boot off his left foot, and stretched it out. 'Take my measure,' he said.

Simon sewed paper together and made a measure twelve vershoks long, gave a look, knelt down, covered his hand carefully with his apron, so as not to soil the gentleman's sock, and began to measure. He measured the sole, measured the instep, and began to measure the calf of the leg. The measure proved too short. The calf was as thick as a beam. See,' he said, 'don't make the boot-leg too narrow.' Simon began to sew on more paper. The gentleman sat and looked at the folks in the room.

'Who's that?' he said, looking at Michael.

'He's my chief apprentice; he'll have a hand in the job.'

6

'Now look you to it,' said the gentleman to Michael; don't forget, make me a pair of boots that'll last a whole year.' Simon gaped at Michael, and sees that Michael does not even look at the gentleman, but stares at a corner behind him, as if perceiving somebody there. Michael stares and stares again, and smiles.

'Well, you fool, what are you gaping at?' the gentleman said. Better look to it, and see that they're ready in time.'

To which Michael answered,

'They shall be ready in a trice when wanted.'

'All right.'

The gentleman put on his boots and his furred coat, wrapped it round him, and made for the door. Forgetting to stoop, he struck his head against the lintel.

He fumed, rubbed his head, sat in his coach, and drove off.
When the gentleman had driven off, Simon said,—

'What a flint! You wouldn't kill the like of him with a crowbar. If a beam were broken over his head he wouldn't feel much pain.'

And Matrona added,

'Such a man as that never crossed our door. Even death can't pull the rivets out of such a one as he.'

VII.

AND Simon said to Michael, 'Well, we've some work now, but let us not get into a mess. The material is dear and the gentleman hottempered, but how are we to avoid mistakes? Now look you here: you can make to measure better than I can; you have better eyes, and your fingers are more nimble. You cut out the leather, and I will finish sewing the boot-tops.'

Michael did as he was bid; took the gentleman's leather, spread it out on the table, doubled it, took up a knife, and began to cut it out. and looked to see how Michael was cutting out.

Matrona came up

She was astonished to see how he was going to work. Matrona had a knowledge of bootmaking. She looked and saw that Michael was not cutting in the usual way, but in a peculiar, round shape.

Matrona was going to say something, but she thought to herself, 'No doubt I don't understand how to make gentlemen's boots; no doubt Michael knows better-I won't interfere.'

Michael cut out a pair, took hold of an end, and began to sew and make one end, as they make slippers, and not two, as they make boots.

Matrona wondered at this too; but here, too, she did not interfere. And Michael sewed on. They began to double. Simon got up and looked. Michael had made slippers of the gentleman's

leather.

Simon was horrified. "How's that?' he thought; Michael has lived here a whole year, and has never yet made a mess of anything, and now he has got us into trouble. The gentleman ordered boots with double soles, and he has put together slippers without soles. The leather is spoilt. What shall I do to satisfy the gentleman?

You won't find such leather as that.'

And he said to Michael,

'What have you done for me, my lad? You have killed me. Don't you know that the gentleman ordered boots? What have you been making?'

He had hardly begun to speak to Michael, when the ring of the door began to rattle; someone was knocking. They looked out at the window, and saw that someone had come on horseback, and was tying up his horse. They opened the door: the gentleman's youth they had seen before came in.

Good day to you.'

"Good day. What do you want?'

My lady sent me to speak about the boots.'

'What about them?'

The gentleman doesn't need boots now. He has taken his leave of the world!'

6 • How so?'

'When he had left you he didn't reach home alive, but died in the coach. The coach came home, they went out to help him out, and he was lying stiff at the bottom like a sack. He had to be pulled out by force. The lady sent to say, "Tell the bootmaker that boots are not wanted for the gentleman who came here, left leather, and ordered boots; say that slippers are wanted for the corpse, that they must be made as quickly as possible." My orders are to wait here till they are ready, and take them away with me.'

Michael took from the table the cuttings of leather, made a roll of them, took up the slippers ready made, clapped them together, rubbed them with his apron, and gave them to the youth. The youth took the slippers.

'Good-bye, master! Good luck to you!'

VIII.

ANOTHER year passed by, and then another, and a sixth year found Michael and Simon still living together. Simon lived on as before. He went nowhere, spoke little, and during all that time had only smiled twice: once when Simon's wife was giving him to sup, and again on the gentleman. Simon was delighted with his workman. He did not ask him any more where he came from; his only fear was that Michael would leave him.

One day they sat at home together. The mistress was putting irons in the stove, and the children were running on the benches and looking out of the windows. Simon was sharpening at one window, and Michael was hammering on a sole at the other.

One of the children ran along a bench to Michael, leaned on his shoulder, and looked out of the window.

6

• Uncle Michael, look! a merchant's wife and two little girls are coming to see us. And one of the girls is lame.'

The child had scarcely spoken these words when Michael threw down his work, turned to the window, and looked down into the street.

Simon wondered. Michael had never looked down into the street before, but now he pressed close to the window and looked at something below. Simon looked out too: it was true. He saw a woman coming up to his yard, leading by the hand two little girls in furred pelisses and in kerchiefs. The little girls were as like as two peas; there was no telling one from the other. The only difference between them was that one girl had hurt her foot-she limped.

The woman went up the staircase into the passage, felt about for the door, pressed back the cramp, and opened it. She made the little girls pass in before her, and entered the cottage.

'Good day, mistress.'

'Good day. What might you want?'

The woman sat down on a chair, the little girls standing close up beside her they looked with astonishment on the people.

6

'These two girls want shoes for the spring.'

By all means; it's easily done. We have never made such small ones, but that's no matter. They can be double-soled or of linen braided. Michael is first-rate for that."

Simon looked at Michael, and saw that he had thrown down his work and kept his eyes fixed on the little girls.

Simon was astonished at Michael. The little girls were no doubt very pretty; they had dark eyes, chubby, rosy cheeks, and wore pretty dresses and pelisses, but for all that Simon could not understand why Michael fixed his eyes upon them. He had often seen such before.

Simon wondered. He began to speak to the woman—to bargain. They came to terms, and he made a measure. The woman took up the lame child and put it on her knees.

'You must measure this one twice over,' she said. 'Make one

shoe to fit the crooked foot, and three for the straight one. Their feet are exactly the same size. They are twins.'

Simon took the measure, and said to the lame child,'How comes it that you are lame

such a good little girl?

Matrona joined in. She wished to know from her who the woman was, and who the children were.

'Are you not their mother?'

'I am not their mother, nor a relative of theirs, mistress. They are perfect strangers-adopted.'

'Not your children, and what care you take of them!'

And well I may. They were both suckled by me. I had a child of my own; God took it to another world; I didn't take such care of it as I do of them.'

"Whose are they, then?'

IX.

THE conversation went on, and the woman told the following story :

'It happened six years ago,' she said. 'In one week these children were left orphans; their father was buried on Tuesday, and their mother died on Friday. They had been left fatherless for three days, when their mother was taken. She did not live out the day. At that time I was living a peasant's life with my husband. We were next-door neighbours. Their father, a peasant, was working in a wood. By some means they let a tree fall on him. It caught him across the body. All his inside was crushed out. They had hardly drawn him out when he breathed his last, and in that very week his wife gave birth to twins-these two children. The poor woman was quite alone.

'She was alone when confined, alone too when she died.

'In the morning I went to visit my neighbour. When I came to her cottage the dear soul was already stiff. At the moment when she died she rolled over and crushed one of her little girls, putting her foot out of joint. The villagers gathered together, washed her, laid her out, dug a grave, and buried her. They were good, kind souls. The little girls were left alone. What was to be done with them? I was the only peasant woman who had an infant at the breast. It was eight weeks since I'd begun to suckle my first infant. I took them for a time to my own home. The peasants gathered together; they were puzzled what to do with them. "Take care of the little girls for a while, Maria," they said to me, " and give us time to turn the matter over. I suckled the straight one, and the other I thought it unnecessary to feed. I never expected she could live, and then I thought the dear little angelic soul was more dead than alive, and I took pity on her. I began to give them suck, and as I'd one infant